


The Come Up

by hellowkatey



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Heart-to-Heart, Humor, Mission Fic, No Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Slow Burn, Swing Dancing, Undercover Missions, reader is an avenger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-02-18 14:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18701557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellowkatey/pseuds/hellowkatey
Summary: Newly accepted as an official Avenger, you move into the infamous compound, anxious to be a part of a team for the first time. You quickly find acceptance among the group, but your loner habits are taking a bit longer to acclimate. Your first mission comes around, and you finally meet the infamous Bucky Barnes, immediately clicking and falling into a natural friendship. When ~feelings~ arise, you must figure out how to figure out if these new emotions need to be suppressed or let out in the open.





	1. The First Mission

When you look in the mirror, you don’t see “hero”.

It doesn’t matter that the suit Tony designed for you makes you look the part. No amount of lightweight bulletproof super fabric and Avengers emblems will change that you are still you underneath— hardened, scarred, and internally broken.

“It looks great.” You whirl around to see Natasha leaning against the door frame of your bedroom. She looks ready for bed with her hair tucked into a loose bun, a pair of flannel pajama pants and a gray tank top.

“Thanks,” you say shyly, glancing back at yourself in the mirror. For as wrong as it feels, it fits like a damn glove. He asked if you had a preference on design. You just said to keep it simple, and he really nailed it.

It looks like normal clothing. The pants are black, high waisted and fitted down your legs like skinny jeans but soft and stretchy and thicker than they seem. He explained it’s because they are meant to block bullets. A new material they got from Wakanda. The top is a dark gray v-neck and a similar material. It’s long sleeve and has the Avengers emblem on the breast and on the back of the neck in black.

Your favorite part is the jacket. It looks like black denim, feels like denim, and moves like denim. According to Tony it’s better. Adjusts to the weather to be cooling or heating. Tough and durable against sharp objects and bullets. Above all, it is practically the same outfit you have worn when you have gone out to do some ass kicking. Tony even let you keep your favorite combat boots.

“I want you to feel like you can be yourself here.” He said when he gave you a box containing this suit. The way he looked at you meant he read your file. They all have the same look when they learn the truth.

“Did you ever feel guilty being here?” You ask, turning to look at Natasha as you slide the jacket off and pull out your own bedtime clothes. She smiles softly, longing in her eyes.

“I still do sometimes. It’s hard moving past the things I’ve done. There will always be red in my ledger no matter how many times I kick bad guys in the face.”

You chuckle at the thought of Nat literally smashing some perp in the jaw. You’re sure she isn’t exaggerating either. “What helped?”

“The people. I let them in, and now they’re my family. I just keep reminding myself that they know about my past and still love me.”

“Easy as that?”

“Easy at that. Have a good night, [y/n].”

You say goodnight and close your bedroom door with her departure. Now alone you change out of the fancy suit and into an oversized t-shirt that hits halfway down your thighs and shorts just in case you run into someone in the hallway at 2am or there’s an attack in the middle of the night. Precautions you never had to deal with working alone.

You set an alarm for 7am for your morning workout and fall asleep almost immediately, the weight of another exhausting day pulling you into darkness.

The chains of the punching bag clatter and twist as you land multiple hard hits on the side. Sweat is dripping off your body as you land a final fatal blow and the punching bag strap gives away, falling to the ground with a loud thud that echos through the training room. You shake out your hands and kick it to the side with two others you have demolished this morning.

“Looks like the punching bag destroyer isn’t me for once.” Steve Rogers laughs, walking into the room with two other men that you recognize as San Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Sam smiles widely at you and then looks at your small pile of fatalities with wide eyes.

“Super soldier?”

“Sam—“

“Oh are we not allowed to ask?” He rolls his eyes at Steve but then looks at you a little concerned he crossed a line. You give him a reassuring smile.

“Not exactly a super  _solider_ by design, but I have some similarities. Strength, agility, enhanced senses, and faster healing would be the overlap.” Steve nods at your list, confirming your assumption.

“Anything else? Laser vision maybe? Man, I have been so disappointed in the lack of laser vision in this--”

“Sam,” Steve groans, and you let out a genuine laugh. You’re internally giddy at how well this conversation is going, even if it’s just a little banter between the naturally outgoing Falcon and Steve Rogers. You glance at Bucky who is standing by quietly, per usual. You know he’s paying attention because his eyes are going back and forth between you and Sam, but his expression is neutral. The resting stoicism of Bucky Barnes.

“Oh come on,” Sam whines. Steve gives him another look and this time he seems like he will cease.

“We’re not here to barrade [y/n]. We are here to deliver a mission.”

He holds out a file folder. It’s thick, and stamped with the SHIELD logo. Must be a few years old.

“How’s your Portuguese?”

“ _Fairly decent._ ” You reply in Portuguese, opening the folder to find a stack of case files with a black and white photograph paper clipped to the first page.

“Perfect. While we hate to just throw you into the field so quick, you’re the only other fluent Portuguese in house at the moment.”

“Other?”

“You will be joining Bucky in Brazil on this mission.”

You look up from the case to look at Bucky. Your eyes meet and the corner of his mouth turns up the smallest amount. A friendly smile. You guess it’s better than nothing.

Excitement courses through you. Your first mission! You didn’t expect to be so excited for something you’ve been doing for years, yet you can’t help but feel a little more confident after your talk with Natasha. You’re working towards a better future.

“When do we leave?”

“Saturday.” Steve says, indicating you have about two days to prepare. “Better start reading.” 

The three men then turn and leave you with a stack of classified files and three broken punching bags. 

 

* * *

 

 

> November 18, 2004
> 
> Agent Log Transcript
> 
> _“Shield agent Riley Gonzalez reporting in. It is November 18 in São Paulo, Brazil. Investigation of the numerous mystery attacks in the area has come up with no concrete evidence... locals have little insight, or do not seem affected by the disturbances. I have seen nothing down here that would indicate possible extraterrestrial activity. Next check in is November 24th unless new information is uncovered.”_
> 
> Transcript End. 
> 
>  
> 
> November 20th, 2004
> 
> Agent Log Transcript
> 
> _“Shield Agent Riley Gonzalez, reporting in. Uhhh, so, I don’t know what to say. I, uh, I found something weird, don’t know if it connects, but--”_
> 
> _[yelling in background, incoherent voices]_
> 
> _“Shit!”_
> 
> Transcript End. 

You’re sitting in one of the large armchairs in the study, curled up in a blanket and sifting through the case files. You leave in the morning, and you just want to go over them once more to make sure you didn’t miss anything. 

When SHIELD was active, seven agents went missing in different parts of South America at different times. After SHIELD was disassembled, no more agents were sent down, but intelligence on so-called “extra-terrestrial attacks” continued to be gathered. After the attacks of 2012, the weird occurances suddenly didn’t seem so outlandish. Fury restarted the investigation and with the help of Tony’s advanced software, managed to find a pattern in the documented attacks. That is why Bucky and you are going to Brazil-- to try and witness and predict the next attack so they can figure out what they are and how to stop them. 

The overhead light flickers on in the study. You blink a few times, your eyes adjusting to the flood of brightness. You hadn’t noticed how dark it had become in there. 

Through your squinting you see Bucky stride into the room, his quiet confidence radiating off of him. “Reading in the dark?” he asks, a small smile appearing on his lips. You’re a little caught off guard to see him engaging you in conversation. The most you’ve ever spoken to him before this moment is when you were introduced, and that entire moment consisted of him walking past the kitchen while Steve, Nat, Bruce, Sam, Tony, Wanda, Vision, and Rhodey were making their own acquaintances and Steve pointed to his fleeting figure saying “That’s Bucky.” and Tony adding “He doesn’t say much.” 

“It wasn’t dark when I started reading.” You push together the papers into a neat pile and tuck them back into the folder. Bucky sits down on the couch across from you, his eyebrows knit together despite his general friendly demeanor. “Something wrong?” 

“Nothing wrong, just thinking about this mission.” 

“Are you nervous?”

He scoffs, and you roll your eyes. 

“Are you one of those guys that chalks everything up to having seen worse?” 

He cocks his head, pressing his lips together into a curious expression. 

“I have lived through the second world war, being frozen, and an alien invasion or two. I’d say that’s seeing some shitty things and missions like these don’t really make me that nervous.” 

“You never know. Seven other agents were probably thinking the same thing, and they were never seen again.”

He picks at a thread on the sleeve of his green henley, glancing up at you to make eye contact every so often. 

“What, do you want me to be nervous?” 

“It would be comforting to not be the only one.” 

He chuckles softly. “[y/n], it’s gonna be fine. First mission jitters go away pretty quick.” 

"When do we take off?" you shift the subject, feeling a little embarrassed at your comment about him "seeing worse". The man was a brainwashed assassin, who do you think you are to make statements like that? Even your shitty past can't compare to the baggage he must carry around with him. 

"7am. You a morning person?" 

"Usually yes." 

"Then you're in charge of waking me up if I oversleep. Steve is gettin' real tired of mothering me." 

"He would never tire of that." Bucky grins at that, nostalgia a glint in his eye. 

"True." he mutters, standing and giving you a polite nod. "I'll see you in the morning." 

You tell him goodnight and starts to head to the door before stopping and turning around halfway. He reaches over and flicks on a lamp that is sitting on a side table near you and then heads to the door, flipping off the much too bright overhead light. The lamp is the perfect amount of dim light for you to see, but not hurting your eyes. You shoot an appreciative smile at his back as he shuts the door to the study behind him. 

Your head is whirling. Casual conversation with Bucky beyond the little squad of him, Steve, and Sam, is not something that you have seen often. He's nice, you observe, and quite laid back. Maybe this mission won't be as awkward as you fear it to be. 

* * *

 

The sun is not yet up when you rise. The sound of birds chirping outside eases you into consciousness before your alarm can go off. Flipping over you press the screen of your tablet to see you have another half an hour before you planned to be awake. You're wide awake now, though, so you sit up and pull your legs into a crossed position and begin your morning meditation a little early. 

You've been meditating for years. It's the only way you have found that truly helps you stay relaxed and control your powers, which is a difficult feat on its own. Being here has taken a toll on you lately, so you've practically tucked away your powers completely. When you were on your own, you used them constantly, figuring to make the best of a bad situation. Now, living with so many others, it feels wrong, like you're constantly being watched. 

There's a knock at the door, and your eyes snap open. You get up and open the door to find Steve Rogers standing there. 

"Did I wake you?" 

"No, I was up."

"Good. Can we talk?" He looks past you, indicating he must want you to invite him in. You step back, unblocking the doorway from him. He comes in and sits at an armchair you have in the corner of your room. You sit back on your bed cross-legged and watch as he twiddles his thumbs a little before finally looking at you. 

"No one knows what you can do," he says, his voice careful. "I'm sure that was obvious after Sam's outburst the other day." 

Did they inject Captain America with mind reading powers too? 

"Why not?" 

"[y/n], you're powerful. You may be one of the most powerful people we have ever had under this roof. I know and Tony knows, but since we did not know the true nature of your powers, we did not want to make assumptions and try to explain something we don't understand." 

"So you're saying if I want people to know who I am, it's up to me to talk about that." 

A part of you is relieved. The stories of you usually cause people to fear you, and that is not something you like. Another part of you is filled with anxiety that the bullet is still sitting in the chamber and you will be the one to bite it. 

"Basically yes. I just wanted to talk to you about this since you are going on a mission and that might be a good topic to bring up... ya know, for partner trust." 

"Understood, Cap." 

"Uh, yeah. Good." 

There's a moment of silence.

"I see what Bucky says about you being a mother now." you chuckle. 

"He said what?" Steve raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smile on his lips. The strange tension in the room breaks and you are relieved. 

"Just that you have to wake him up for school." 

"It was his words not mine, then." Steve laughs and stands up. "Good luck, [y/n]. Watch out for my pal too." 

"Definitely." 

Steve leaves. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, a testament to the new conversation that has been added to your list of things to do on this mission. At least you have something to talk about on the plane now, you suppose. 

Sometimes you wish you could fly. Or were just strong and skilled like Natasha. Or had something, anything other than the mess of powers that you have. It would be easier that way. Fewer people would leave out of fear or misunderstanding. Maybe you would have real friends. 

Maybe that's why you accepted the Avenger's offer. You have been racking your brain endlessly for the past few weeks trying to figure out why you wanted to be here so bad. Being solo was so much simpler, so much fewer rules. Yet, when Tony Stark showed up at your crummy apartment door, you decided on the spot that you were in. For someone that tends to overthink  _everything_ , you sure made that decision fast. 

There is a community of other people here that have rough backstories, misunderstood abilities, the weight of the world on their shoulders. A part of you just needed some sort of connection. 

 

 

You place the last of your packed clothes into your duffel bag and zip it up. Wheels up in an hour and a half. You slip on a pair of black leggings and a green short sleeve roll sleeve top. Topping the outfit off with your usual combat boots and tying your hair up in a bun, you look in the mirror, satisfied, and throw the bag over your shoulder. 

Bucky's room is nearly on the other side of the complex. He's next to Steve's room, unsurprisingly. You walk over and stand outside his door, your hand hovering in the air as you debate whether to knock or not. 

Was he joking yesterday about needing to be woken up? 

Fuck, you really should have confirmed that. 

You drop your hand and press your ear to the door, listening for any sort of movement. Silence. 

"Screw it," you mutter to yourself, and you knock. 

It's quiet at first, but a few moments later you hear rustling and the sound of someone groaning. 

The door opens suddenly and you jump back in surprise. There stands Bucky, hair disheveled and matted on the side, eyes droopy and sleep fresh on his breath. Shirtless... very shirtless and wearing only a pair of thin cotton pajama pants hanging low on his hips. Your eyes snap back up to his face, your face red that you totally just let your eyes wander down his entire body. 

"'m up" he slurs, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Uh huh," you nod, noticing some parallel straight lines practically carved into his forehead... someone fell asleep with his metal arm on his head. You restrain yourself from making any jokes and step back again to put some distance between the two of you. "Wheels up in an hour." 

 

 


	2. The Flight

The quinjet sat glimmering under the sun on the runway. You sit on a bench outside the hanger fiddling with the strap of your bag. Heavy footsteps approaching make you look up to see Bucky walking towards you. He's wearing a blue henley that is rolled to his elbows and makes his eyes stand out even more than usual, dark jeans, and black boots. His hands are up above his head, shoving the top layer of his hair into a bun so he is sporting a half up-half down sort of style. 

He passes you walking straight towards the quinjet. 

"Come on [y/n], we're running late." he yells back at you, a smile on his face. 

You roll your eyes and jump up, jogging until you catch up and match his face. 

"Someone is in a good mood." you scoff. 

"When am I not in a good mood?" 

"Unless brooding is considered a good mood, in my observational opinion, not often." 

"I do not brood." 

"Okay, it's a resting stoic face then. Better?" 

"I prefer quiet, but whatever you say." he shakes his head and you walk up the ramp into the jet and immediately notice there is no pilot.

"Who is taking us?" 

Bucky looks around at the empty jet as the door hisses closed. His eyes meet yours and he holds up a set of keys with a plastic blue cube keychain. "I am."

"Oh." you say. You don't know what you expected. In your mind, you pictured every other flight experience you've ever encountered: long security lines, being uncomfortably close to strangers, shitty peanuts. The Avengers obviously wouldn't fly Delta airlines to Brazil. but for some reason that was the picture in your mind. 

"Is that a problem?" 

"No! I, uh, I just... I don't know." 

Bucky ignores your muttering, turning his back to you and continuing whatever he was doing. You go exploring, finding yourself in the cockpit looking out the large window at the runway. The upstate countryside is beautiful with all the greenery and trees. Coming to New York was the first time you had really seen trees since your childhood. They held nice memories. 

Bucky strides into the cockpit, plopping down a water bottle in the pilot seat cup holder and a bag of pistachios. You are standing in the middle of the cockpit, just watching him and clutching your bag. He finally looks up and notices your awkward presence. 

"Find an empty compartment for your bag. You're in the copilot seat." 

You nod, thankful for his direction and stash your bag in the back before coming back up to the cockpit. He has now taken a seat in the pilot seat and is typing things into the computer. 

"I will never get used to this whole technology thing," he mutters, jabbing his finger at the unresponsive screen. You lean against the armrest of the copilot seat, watching what he's doing. The screen continues to be unresponsive and he throws his hands up in defeat. You look at the glowing blue screen and see that he has been attempting to submit the coordinates. Basically, turn on the GPS. You reach out and press submit. The screen immediately responds to your gentle touch and Friday's voice rings out that the system is ready to go. 

Bucky turns to look at you looking defeated. "Millenials." he scoffs. Without thinking about your actions you reach over and slap him lightly on the bicep as you would to a good friend. Just as his muscles tense up at your touch, you realize your mistake. 

"Sorry, uh, I--"

"No, don't be." he relaxes, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he hits some buttons on the quinjet. The engines come to life. "People like to treat me like I'm going to snap at any moment. It's... nice to feel normal." 

You smile, looking down at your lap. You know exactly what he is talking about. 

You're in the air half an hour later, strapped into the copilot seat with your legs propped up on the dashboard in front of you. Bucky has been mostly quiet thus far and you haven't engaged him in conversation, instead putting on some background music so it isn't as uncomfortably quiet. 

You keep going back to your conversation with Steve. You need to talk to Bucky about this at some point, especially if you will be on this mission together. You'd rather not catch him off guard in the middle of an important moment. 

"Bucky," you say, and he turns his head to look at you, raising his eyebrows. "I have to talk to you about something." 

"What is it?"

"I, uh, need to tell you about my abilities." 

He nods, pressing some buttons on the screen and then letting go of the wheel. He turns his chair so it's facing you. When he seems situated and the plane is in autopilot you let out a deep breath. 

"Okay, so quick backstory, otherwise none of this will make sense. I was born without abilities. I lived with my mom and dad and my two older brothers in Arizona until I was five. Then my mom got a new job-- she was a scientist but took a job as a college professor-- in South Dakota. I never really thought about it until later, but my mom was brilliant. She could have worked at any college she wanted probably, but we went to a small school in a sparsely populated state. Obviously, I was five, so I didn't think anything was wrong, but something was."

You let out a shaky breath, now getting to the more difficult part. You've been told telling this part helps people understand it more. So you do. 

"I was nine. It was a pretty normal day... it was actually beautiful, sunny and uncharacteristically warm. Both my brothers had the flu, the college had already let out so my mom was home, and my dad worked from home so my entire family was in our house except for me. I didn't feel good in the morning, but my mom thought I was faking to copy my brothers since I didn't have a fever. So I went to school anyways. When I came back... it was gone."

"They were gone?" Bucky's voice is soft, unintrusive. You look at him, your eyes devoid of any emotion. 

"No,  _it_ was gone. The entire house practically disintegrated. There was an explosion. My entire family was killed, nothing but piles of ashes." 

Bucky's mouth forms an O and he leans back, looking at you with great pity. 

"I was supposed to go into child services. The social worker told me my foster family would be picking me up in the morning. In the morning, I was picked up by a man and a woman, but they were not my real foster family. I didn't realize something was wrong until they were leading me out and I saw my social worker lying with her face blown off under her desk. They sedated me before I could scream."

"[y/n]..."

You're in word-vomit mode now, no stopping the story that you have told nearly a hundred times in the past few years. You can feel your mouth talking, but your brain has shut down.

"So apparently they were a part of this organization that was trying to create the next breed of mutants. A new HYDRA. There were others like me, kids stolen from the system, no parents to be looking for them and a system too broken to notice them gone. They began to do tests and experiments. Out of their ten kids, I was the only to survive experiment after experiment.

So my abilities. I mentioned the other day that I have a few "super soldier" abilities like you and Steve. That isn't the entire truth." 

You hold out your hand and concentrate, a warmth suddenly dancing upon your fingertips. You conjure up a silver orb, light and delicate as it rolls down your fingers and floats in the air. 

Bucky's eyes are trained on your hands as the orb dissipates into thin air. You then hold up your hand, and there is a rustling of keys. Bucky looks down to where the key is inserted into the ignition. Before his very eyes, the key ring separates and allows the keychain to come free. It' floats up into your hand, where you palm the smooth plastic cube. 

"It's called atomic manipulation," you say, twisting the cube around in your fingers. "I don't really understand the science of it, but basically things do what I want. I can create and destroy matter, you know, how you're not supposed to be able to do." 

"Wow." is all he can say, still staring the key ring that is floating in pieces. You snap and it goes right back together, a soft glow around the metal for a few moments before it goes back to normal. 

"So," you swallow nervously, trying to read his expression but not finding any indication of a distinguishable emotion. "what do you think?" 

He is quiet for a moment. Processing. This usually takes a while for most people. A few moments later he looks straight into your eyes.

"I'm glad to have you on my side." he smiles relief washing through you. This is the turning point in most of your relationships. Many can't get past the fact you could snap and basically blow their body to the four corners of the universe. Rightfully so, you suppose. "If you don't mind me asking... ya know, as one tortured kid to another..." he says slowly, pronouncing each word as if testing your reaction. "Do you know what they wanted to do with you? Why they were doing the things they were?" 

You swallow hard, gazing out the window. You do know. It's not something you like to think about though. He clears his throat and you glance back at him.

"Sorry, ya don't have to answer that. Jus' something I think about a lot."

"Does that not make you feel guilty?"

He shakes his head. "It helps actually. They took away my life for a reason. Gives me answers. If it were for nothing..."

"Right okay." you stare ahead, drawing your legs into your chest.  The implications of your capture and your dark history are a conversation for another time. Bucky reads your body language and turns back forward, resting his hands on the wheel despite it still being on autopilot. In the background,  _Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now_ by the Smiths plays. 

"Ironic." you mutter. 

You don't see it, but an involuntary smile appears on Bucky's lips.

* * *

Bucky landed the jet a safe distance from the city amongst some shielding rocks. It's dark when you land after the long journey and you feel exhausted despite relaxing for most of the flight. You never really thought about how time zones work, but Rio being only an hour ahead of New York time didn't seem quite correct in your brain. You still felt jet lagged. 

Bucky is leaning back in his chair rubbing his tired eyes. His fatigue is evident in his frizzy hair and slouched shoulders. He tries to brush through the tangles that have formed in his long hair with his fingers, but they get caught halfway down. With a sigh he pulls the handful of thick dark hair into a loose bun at the base of his neck. A few strands escape the hair tie and swing forward into his face. He blows one piece out of the way out of the side of his lips. 

You feel bad for him not really being able to rest because you don't technically know how to fly this jet. While it isn't your fault Steve hadn't quite put you through flight training yet, you still wish you could have done more. 

You are walking down the ramp to the humid outdoors. The smell of rain is abundantly evident in the air. You can just make out the dips of dark and light in the overcast sky from the incoming storm. 

Bucky follows you out, throwing his duffel over his shoulder. You note that he has changed out of his long sleeve shirt for a thin black t-shirt. He slaps a bracelet on his right arm and twists a small bead atop it. Suddenly the panels of his metal arm shift from a cool gray to his warm skin tone. You blink a few times and realize you can't even tell the difference between his metal arm and his real one. 

"And I thought flying cars were the epitome of the future," he mutters, examining his new skin-clad arm. Turning back to the jet, he presses another button and similar to his arm, the quinjet practically disappears into thin air, mirrors masking its presence. He looks up at you, raising his eyebrows as a silent  _ready to go?_ You nod, and he starts walking straight into the forest. You match his pace, walking beside him when the path is wide enough.

The rain forest quickly turns to thick foliage, quieter than you would expect it to be, but that may be because of the rain. Even so, the bushes and plants around you rustle every few moments. Your eyes dart back and forth, gliding up the expanse of trees so massive their tops disappear into the foggy glaze of the humid night air. Vines hang down into the makeshift path, to which Bucky is considerate enough to push out of the way and hold for you to go under. You feel considerably less nervous about walking through the rainforest at night with Bucky present. Sure, you can hold your own in any fight, man or animal, but there is something calming about his stoic presence and large stature. 

Considering you found him intimidating and mysterious a few days prior, you feel you've made some great strides in bonding with him. 

Another five minutes of walking and you come to a small clearing, barely the size of your room at the Avenger's complex. Bucky, the man with the buttons, presses yet another and a black, hard top Jeep seemingly materializes out of nowhere. 

"I can drive." You say before Bucky can make a move towards the car. "You've been at the wheel all day." 

Bucky looks at you, biting the inside of his lip before shrugging, a look of relief crossing his face. You go up to the Jeep. Bucky reaches under the SUV, coming up with a set of keys on a keychain. He tosses them over the hood and you catch them in the air. You both open the doors and slip in. You immediately gape at the interior. 

It looks like any normal Jeep from the outside. A recent model, but nothing that really stands out. You suppose that is the point. The inside, however, is at the level of most of Tony's tech with many screens, buttons, and levers that you have no idea what they do and you hope Bucky does. When you turn the key in the ignition the car buzzes to life, the AC immediately relieving the stickiness of the outdoors. You relax back into your chair, adjusting the seat and the mirrors while Bucky tinkers with the screen. 

"I put the safe house address in," he says,  _Route Accepted_ ringing out in Friday's voice from the speakers.  _Drive straight for three miles to the highlighted route._

"Perfect," you turn to look at him, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the drowsiness in his voice. "You can sleep if you want. Friday will get me there." 

"No, I won't leave you alone." 

He fell asleep approximately ten minutes later. 

To keep yourself awake you turn on the radio and bop along to the music at a low volume. When you finally make it out of the rain forest and onto a slightly more civilized road--well, a road that doesn't involve dodging fallen branches and overgrown vines-- you relax, following this road for another hour. You turn on cruise control, letting your instincts take over. You always loved driving. It made you feel free, which is not a feeling you got often in your life. 

Every so often you find yourself stealing glances at Bucky. He looks so peaceful in his sleep. The creases in his face are smooth and he looks young, despite being around 100 at this point, and innocent, despite the horrors he's seen. From his usual tired eyes, you conjecture he usually doesn't get much sleep, so you're happy he seems to be getting some rest. 

Movement in front of you jars you out of your examination of Bucky Barnes. In the distance, you see a figure along the side of the road. Two figures? Their movements are slow and methodical. Threatening. The headlight finally gets into range of illuminating them, and one of them jumps out in front of the car, a large gun in hand. 

"Fuck!" You screech, Bucky's body becoming rigid and alert beside you as a shower of bullets slam into the windshield. You hold up your hand, slight glowing at your fingertips, ready to take out this guy, but Bucky's hand encapsulating yours stops you.

"No! Floor it!" he yells over the pounding on the bulletproof glass. You slam down on the gas and the Jeep accelerates forward. A few bullets bounce off your window, then the backseat window, and then a couple of shots hit the back windshield. You bend down to look through the shattered windshield, seeing no one else in front of you.

Your hands are shaking but you squeeze the wheel to hide that fact. 

"What the hel--"

"Carjackers," he says as-a-matter-of-factly. "Usually more common in the city, but it doesn't surprise me to see them out here." 

"Doesn't surpris-- that wasn't in the file!" 

"They're unorganized, not really much of a threat to people like us." 

"They are going to hurt other people though, shouldn't we have stopped them?" 

Bucky sighs. "Technically, we're undercover at this point. Trying to blend in. Jumping out of the car and beating up a bunch of robbers is not laying low." 

"That's why--"

"Yeah. If someone got blasted apart, or whatever you would have done to him, that would have gotten around and tipped off that we are here." 

You shake your head at your own stupidity. You didn't even consider that. 

"It doesn't matter. I will call Steve in the morning to get us a new car." he pulls out a little notebook and pencils in a quick note, snapping it shut and shoving it back into his back pocket. Still a little shaken from the unexpected assault you concentrate on driving through the shatter lines in the glass. 

"Damnit!" you mutter and glance at Bucky who is watching you closely. You can hardly see. You know you can fix it. Will he scold you for doing it? Wait, why are you worrying about him slapping you on the wrist?

You pick up one of your hands from the steering wheel extend your palm. In the blink of an eye, the windshields and windows are back in perfect condition. Looking back at Bucky, his eyes are wide. 

"Oh." is all that comes out of his mouth, his finger reaching out to touch the now spotless glass.

"Yeah." you turn your head so he can't see your satisfied smile.

It's quiet between you for a few moments as you hide the fact you are internally cheering at someone not freaking out at your power use and he continues to examine the glass. You are staring out the windshield being a good driver when you feel his eyes on you. 

"You have a strong future in the body shop, business, [y/n]."


	3. The Cover

You arrive at the safe house nearing one in the morning. After the attack and you making up for almost exposing the operation by fixing the car, Bucky and you fell into a stride. He's funny, you discovered, in an observational quick-witted type of way. After an entire day of travel, he seems to have loosed up significantly around you, the twinkling eyes from old pictures you have seen in the Captain America museum shining through the Winter Soldier physique. 

"They call it Azul." 

You look out at the house resting near the side of a cliff, the exterior painted a bright sky blue. 

"They really get clever with the names over there at SHIELD, don't they?" 

Bucky chuckles as you turn off the car. You both step out and grab your bags from the back. 

The house is hardly a house. The main room is about the size of your first shitty apartment-- so uncomfortably cramped. Mismatched furniture speckles what seems to be a disorganized living area in the far corner. The kitchen is to the immediate right of walking in the house, which looks to be stocked with the bare minimum of kitchen appliances. Other than that, there are two open doors across from the living room that you assume are bedrooms. 

"This is... not what I expected, to be honest." 

"Steve obviously set this one up." Bucky runs a hand on the back of a sickly green couch. A small cloud of dust picks up from the movement and he recoils immediately. 

"No eye for interior design." 

"Oh, not at all." 

You walk over to the rooms, peering in to find them to be identical, a full bed in each with matching blue comforters that look to be much newer than the rest of the house. The bed is all you really care about anyways.

"At least we don't have to share." you quip as Bucky comes up behind you to also check out the rooms. 

"Not a cuddler?" he teases. You never expected to hear the word "cuddle" come out of Bucky Barnes's mouth. 

You turn, taking in his smug expression as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. Steve once said something about Bucky being the ladies' man of their friendship. You didn't believe him... until seeing Bucky in this mood. 

"I--uh," you search for some sort of witty response, but the realization washes over you, causing your face to fall. "I don't know." You've never slept in the same bed as another person. Never really had a significant other to hold or be held by. 

Bucky must sense the shift in the mood because he unravels his arms, now standing awkwardly with his bag hanging between his legs. 

"We--uh... should sleep." 

"Yes, that. Sleep, good." you cringe at your own awkwardness. Dear god, you sound like the fucking Hulk. 

Bucky gives you a half smile, before going into his room and shutting the door behind him. You sigh and follow suit.

The room is small, four walls creating a perfectly square cell with a single window, a bed, and a dresser. You drop your duffel on the bed and quickly throw your things into the dresser. You slip on a tank top and a pair of short athletic shorts as the stickiness of the humid air has penetrated the house. Your ideal sleeping situation is a freezing cold, air-conditioned room, and seventeen blankets piled on top of you for warmth.  _This_. This is not that. This is the exact opposite. 

After brushing your teeth and letting your hair out you lay down on the bed, pushing the comforter to the end and just using the top sheet to cover your sweaty body. You're exhausted. You should fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. But no. An hour ticks by and you're staring at the ceiling. Your eyelids aren't even heavy. Letting out an audible groan, you roll over, checking your watch that's sitting on the windowsill. 3 in the morning. Fantastic. 

You slip out of bed. The floor makes quiet creaks as you pad across the room and slip into the living room. It's much cooler out here. You turn on the kitchen light, curious at what you even have in this thing. Another half an hour passes and you've taken inventory of the entire kitchen and organized it from the hodgepodge it was before you got a hold of it. Sleep begins to tug at your eyes, and you collapse down on a large red and yellow chair that is significantly less dusty than the couch. 

You wake up to the feeling of your body slamming into something hard. The wind knocks out of your stomach and a loud  _OOMPH_ escapes your lips and you groan. 

You're warm. Too warm. The sound of footsteps on the floor gets your attention and you finally open your eyes to find yourself face to face with the floor. 

"[Y/n]?" Bucky's door flies open and you look up to see him freeze in place, his face looking quite worried, then relieved, and then twisting as if he is holding in a laugh. 

Consciousness catches up to you and you realize the position you are in. 

You're wrapped in the comforter from your bed. Like, burrito wrapped, your arms pulled tight against your side, which must have been why you hit the floor stomach first. 

"What the hell?" you bellow. Bucky's flood gates open and his laugh rings out, filling the room. You glare at him, trying to twist out of the blanket burrito but you're pretty thoroughly swaddled. 

"Do you need help?"

"No." you glare again, rolling onto your back to see if you can get out that way. The damn other end of the comforter is nowhere to be found. Bucky's upside down face appears as he leans over you. 

"You sure?" 

You sigh, stopping your assault against the blanket. He kneels down and you expect him to just grab wherever the end is and roll you out. 

That is not what happens. 

Bucky slips his hands under your knees and back and before you can protest he has lifted you up like a baby. You yelp in surprise, rolling in towards him instinctively, but with your hands pinned you are entirely at his mercy. 

"Put me--"

"Relax." he interrupts, setting your feet down on the floor so you're standing with the support of his arm around your waist. His other hand reaches behind you so he's nearly hugging you and he pulls the back of the blanket loose. You wiggle until the blanket falls to the floor around your feet. 

"I didn't even fall asleep with a blanket, I'm so confus--" You stop midsentence at Bucky staring at the ground, laughing quietly. "You." 

"I came out here to you shaking on the chair so I threw a blanket over ya. Don't know how you managed to do  _that_ though. It's impressive, really." 

"It's like 85º in here, I wasn't cold I--well I wasn't cold that's for sure." You gesture to the beads of sweat running down your temple as your body does its best to cool down. "I'm going to take a shower." 

You push past him, your cheeks still burning with embarrassment and frustration. This  _would_ happen on your first mission. The Winter Soldier, world-renowned assassin, resident best friend to Captain freakin' America, and fellow teammate would have to pick you up like a fucking toddler because a blanket got the best of you. It's not your fault you roll around a lot in your sleep, especially when you are nightmare ridden like you were last night. 

You turn on the rickety shower and strip off the moist tank top and shorts from your body. After making sure there's a spare towel in the cupboard you slip into the shower, letting the cold water wash off the film of sweat encompassing you. The relief is immediate. 

You wash up and slip back into your room. You slip on underwear and a sports bra and pull a white tank top over your head. You bring out a pair of long black pants and a pair of green cargo shorts that hit at mid-thigh. You're going into the city today and you need to blend in... as much as you would rather the protection of pants. You figure the chances of finding a fight today are probably less than usual missions. Stakeouts generally are not as labor intensive as you are used to when going into the field. You slip on the green shorts and pair with your usual black boots. Finally, tieing your hair up in a bun on top of your head, you look in the mirror, satisfied, and walk out into the main room. 

Bucky is in the kitchen, his head in a cabinet. He too is dressed for the weather in with dark jeans and a simple gray t-shirt. His long dark hair is half pulled back, a few tendrils of hair falling into his face.

"Looking for something?"

"Frying pan."

"Bottom left cabinet, the second shelf." 

He turns to look at you, his eyes scanning you quickly before flickering back to eye contact. He raises an eyebrow.

"Go through the kitchen already?"

"Couldn't sleep." 

His lips press into a thin line. "Fair enough." He opens the cabinet and pulls out the pan, setting it on a hot plate. "You like eggs?" 

Bucky cooks scrambled eggs while you make some toast. It's strange, the comfortable domesticity of the entire situation. In the hours of travel, you found a comfortable silence with one another. You navigated the shared kitchen with ease, something that you have never been able to master in the massive space of the Avengers compound with any other team member. 

"My mother used to say 'cooking with another person is the best test of compatibility'." Bucky looks up at you, mouth full of food as you sit across from him at the table. "I didn't really understand what that meant until later. My parents used to bake together all the time. They would work together like magic, always knowing exactly what the other needed. It wasn't until Thor offered to help me with dinner last week, and somehow burnt the ice cream for dessert, that I realized what they meant by that."

The memory of a very perplexed Thor holding a scorched pint of ice cream pops up in your mind and you mirror Bucky's own smile at the anecdote. 

"So are you relating me to Thor or your parents?" 

"If you cooked like Thor this would be a very short mission." 

"It takes substantial effort to cook as bad as him." 

"Exactly the point. I'm grateful to have you instead." 

Bucky smiles, his eyes bright and twinkling. It's not often you see him so relaxed. It's refreshing. 

You finish breakfast and Bucky and you gather in the living room over a tablet to go over the day's mission. It's a simple stakeout, go into the city and visit the old attack sites, see if anyone offers information, and don't make a ripple. 

"What's our cover?" you ask.

"I don't think we really need one today." 

"Oh come on, that's no fun." 

"We weren't given a cover. Bad covers are more dangerous than no covers." 

"Okay," you sigh, leaning back into the couch, more disappointed about this no cover thing than you expected to be. You had this mental image of a real undercover operation, but you suppose reality is not really like a movie. 

Suddenly Bucky groans, turning to look back at you. "Fine." 

You sit up straighter.

"If we talk to anyone long enough for them to ask, we're siblings out exploring." 

"I can work with that." you grin. Bucky rolls his eyes. 

You plan out a route for the day and program the itinerary into your phones. It's nearly ten in the morning when you take off into the city. The streets are bustling with activity and you stare out the window watching the people and houses fly by. The mountainous terrain is gorgeous, greener than you have ever seen. Gondolas fly up into the mountains and in the distance, you see the famous Christ the Redeemer statue stretching over the city of Rio De Janeiro. 

The morning and early afternoon fly by. You and Bucky check out the first few hotspots, ultimately finding nothing relating to the mission. No indication of alien activity, suspicious people, or locals that seem scared or threatened by anything. By evening, you are at the second to last place on the list. It's nearing night and you and Bucky plan to fly through this place and get to the last before it gets dark. From the shifting colors in the sky, you aren't sure the time table will be met. 

You're in the North part of the city. A poorer area far from the beaches and tourist attractions you found earlier in the day. You and Bucky pull up outside cream colored white gates lined with rows of palm trees. 

"Quinta da Boa Vista." Bucky says, pulling out a few papers from the file and handing them to you. "The location of the most recent attack."

You skim over the documents which outline a significant rise in petty crime over last few weeks prior and witness accounts of suspicious looking individuals snooping around. Two weeks ago there was a bright green-blue light that sprung from the park for just a moment, followed by the disappearance of fourteen people. None have been found since, which is consistent with the other attacks in Rio, São Paulo, Buenos Aires, Bogotá, Cusco, and Córdoba. 

"Fourteen. That's the most at one time so far." 

"Probably why they finally deployed us." 

You and Bucky get out of the car and walk into the park. The sun, getting lower in the sky by the moment, casts golden rays onto the vibrant green grass and towering palm trees. The park grounds are beautiful, and you marvel in it. It doesn't look like the location of a tragic mystery from two weeks ago. The only indication of the disappearance is the absolute silence and lack of people within eyeshot. With the zoological garden and the National Museum on the grounds, you read about how it is usually pretty busy, especially when the weather is nice. There doesn't seem to be a soul here. 

You walk near the National Museum, where the attack was estimated to take place near since half of the victims were workers at the museum. You gape at the massive structure, once a beautiful soft yellow color now covered in soot and surrounded by ladders and scaffolding. Repairs required from the fire of the previous year. You remember seeing videos of the museum up in flames on the news. The pictures did not do the extent of the damage justice. 

You're staring at the building when Bucky suddenly grabs your wrist and pulls you back behind a line of trees. You look up at him to find his finger to his lips. Peering between the trees you see two people dressed in dark clothing approaching the museum from the other side. They are looking around as if paranoid of being followed. They disappear into the structure.

"We should follow them," Bucky whispers. "Let's go." 

You stay in the shadows and make your way into the building. Once entering, evidence of the fire becomes significantly stronger. The walls are still black, some spots lighter colors where things were removed from the walls. A thick sheet of ash that still covers the flooring masks the sound of both of your shoes. You enter from the same door the men did, following what seems to be a beaten path in the soot. As you get closer to the room they are in, voices become more clear. 

_"The police haven't returned in the last three days. They hit a dead end."_ One says in Portuguese.

_"We will report the site as secured, then._ " The other replies. 

You're in the hallway outside their space, both you and Bucky crouched down, ears to the thin walls. They are saying something about contacting a boss when Bucky shifts his weight from one leg to the other, causing a floorboard to let out a deep creaking sound. You both freeze as the men become silent. 

" _Did you hear something?"_

_"A footstep."_

You hear the cocking of weapons, and Bucky pulls you back as you head for the exit. There is a long hallway leading to the way out. There is no way of getting out that way without them seeing you. You make a split decision and grab his arm, pulling him into a room and closing the door as quietly as possible. 

"What are you doing?" he says in a hushed tone. Stress is evident on his face. 

"We weren't going to make it," you whisper. The sound of footsteps outside becomes louder. You and Bucky press into the wall. You look at the room and try to weigh your ability to create openings in the walls for a quick escape. There are a few issues with this. For one, the structure is damaged and fragile. By moving the atoms you will further destabilize the structure and it will take extra energy to ensure the entire building doesn't collapse. You're tired as it is from the rest of the day. It's the last resort at best. 

_"Search the area."_

"Fuck." you whisper, hearing the sounds of adjacent doors opening. 

Bucky looks at the door, looks at you for a long moment, and then his body is encompassing yours. He presses his torso into yours, one arm wrapping around your waist and the other reaching up to cup your cheek. 

"Go with it." he says softly as you hear the doorknob twist, and then his lips are on yours. 

It's a soft kiss, his lips barely touching yours and are mostly hidden by his hand, but it does the job that you suspect Bucky was going for. The man gasps, and Bucky recoils. You both look at the man wide-eyed and red-faced, mock shock in your expressions and real shock in his own. 

"Oi,  _what are you kids doing here?"_

_"What the--"_ Bucky starts to say, but you interrupt.

_"I told you we would get caught!"_ you push Bucky off of you and cross your arms over your chest. _"So sorry, we were just leaving."_

" _Oh come on babe, you thought it was hot, too!"_ You whirl around, getting into the lovers quarrel now as it seems to definitely be throwing off the man. He is still standing in the doorway staring at you and Bucky yelling at one another in Portuguese.

_"Shut up, this was dumb and--"_

_"You agreed to it though!"_

" _I agreed to go on a date with you not make out in a construction zone."_

_"Same difference."_

You groan and turn back pushing past the man and storming out towards the exit. Bucky sounds to be close behind you. By the time you are out the door the adrenaline is pumping through you like crazy and you are resisting the urge to break down in a fit of laughter. 

When you reach the treeline, out of sight of the museum you turn around to face Bucky who has relief etched into his features. 

"That was too close." you groan, sitting down on the grass. 

"We played it off well, though." He sits down next to you, reaching down and fiddling with blades of grass between his pointer finger and thumb. "I, uh, thanks for, uh, playing along."

You look at him, a blush still burning on his cheeks. When he finally looks up to meet your eyes you give him a mischievous smile. 

"Siblings, huh?"

 


	4. The Kiss

Kissing Bucky Barnes did not hit you until you were lying in bed, hours later, and the moment was  _still_ replaying over and over in your mind. It was a good diversion if you're being honest. The guy was practically frozen in place, not sure what to do with the two of you. The way his hands held you close to him and his lips danced around yours so gently was not how you expected intimacy with a former assassin to feel. 

Your first kiss. You shutter at that realization. You're an adult that has never--well until now-- been kissed. Been held like that by another person. It wasn't even a _real kiss_ either. 

You roll over, your mind still deciding whether to cry or give into daydreaming about kissing him again... This is  _not_ how you want to be thinking about your co-worker. Yes, you've always found him attractive, but how would that even work? You know he is pretty broken inside no matter how okay he can seem. You've heard Steve and Sam talk in hushed voices about his nightmares and how he comes down to their rooms to sleep on their couches (which they requested specifically for him to use) when he's afraid to be alone. He probably isn't even considering going out on dates or being with anyone. 

You feel like a high schooler tossing and turning over a crush. You hate it.

A small part of you hopes that the brief kiss made him feel something like it did to you. You hope warmth spread through his belly and he had to restrain himself from pulling closer for a deeper kiss. You hope he felt your lips on his for hours afterward like you are. Maybe he is lying awake in his bed trying to make sense of everything as well. 

Or maybe it was just a kiss to save their lives and he is sleeping soundly, never to think about it again. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, holding back a few tears. Your focus is finally shifting from Bucky, but now your mind is fixating on just how touch-starved you are. You never realized how important a hug was to you until your parents were gone and every bit of physical affection that you could think of was stripped from your life. His arms around you were probably the first time you've been properly held in over ten years. 

Just like the first night, your mind was running too wild to find any sort of sleep. You get up out of bed and go into the living room to retrieve your tablet. Maybe you can download a movie to help get you to sleep. 

When you exit your room you find that there is another person who must also be having trouble sleeping. Bucky is sitting on the couch, back turned to you. As you walk around the chairs he looks up, his eyes meeting yours initially with a smile, but then it turned into a frown. 

"Have you been crying?" 

You reach up and feel a small line of wetness down your cheek where a tear escaped a few minutes ago. The sleeplessness must also make your eyes look a little red so you must look like you've been bawling or something. 

"Not really," you say, which is kind of the truth. He raises an eyebrow in disbelief. 

"What's wrong?"

"Barnes, really, I'm fine." 

"Was it something I did or are you missing home or--"

"I just... I don't know how to explain this without sounding really lame and I don't really want to talk about it in general, okay?" Your words become increasingly hostile as the sentence progresses and you immediately regret it. "Shit, sorry, I... I haven't been sleeping well. I don't mean to be a bitch." 

Bucky stares at you as you lay your head in your hands and brush them up to push your hair back. 

"[y/n]," he says gently, his hand reaching up and taking yours. You initially flinch at his touch, but then relax into it as he pulls you down to sit next to him on the couch. "Listen, I have seen a  _lot_ of therapists in my day."

"Are you saying I need therapy, Barnes?" 

"No, well probably, everyone does, but, just listen. I've seen a lot of therapists so I know a thing or two about not sleeping and different ways to help. Something is bothering you. Ya don't have to tell me, you can write it down or call someone, but maybe you just need to get it out." 

"Does that work for you?"

 He sighs, brushing his hair back with his hand. "Sometimes. I'm a lot of fucked up." 

"Welcome to the club." 

"Welcome? I'm the president. I formed the club." he chuckles. 

"Can I be the treasurer?" 

"Sure, [y/n]." 

A comfortable silence falls between you. You relax into the couch, already feeling a little drowsy just from easing the tensions your mind was obsessing over earlier. His presence relaxes you, makes you feel safe. Safe is not a feeling you have been able to find easily in the last few years. Maybe that is why you have been a chronic insomniac all this time. It's hard to sleep when you're constantly looking over your shoulder with only yourself to rely on. 

A few quiet moments pass. You decide to take Bucky's advice. "Want to know the lame thing?" 

"I love lame things. Lay it on me." 

"Our, uh, improv scene earlier today was the closest I've been to another person in over ten years." 

 

Bucky smiles softly. "I know the feeling. I didn't realize how much I needed people until I got Steve back." A tinge of pink appears in his cheeks as he looks down at his lap. "Also sorry about earlier, there was probably another way to do that, but I made a split decision and didn't really consult you or--"

"It's okay, it worked didn't it?" 

"Yeah, it did. A pretty shitty kiss on my part though, I'm sure I don't rank too high." he chuckles. 

You scoff, shaking your head. "Not really anyone to compare to, so I guess you're highest and lowest." 

Bucky stops laughing and you realize what you have just revealed.  _Shit, oh shit_.

"Wait, what do you mean? I wasn't your..."

You scratch the back of your head, your lips pressing into a thin line. "I was kept in a lab during my rebellious teen years. Never got around to it. I don't mind though, it's not your fau--"

"I'm so sorry!" he looks distressed, eyes wide and nibbling at his lower lip. You internally hit yourself for even mentioning it. That was something you could have taken to your grave. 

"Bucky don't worry, it's honestly okay. It was... spontaneous." 

"You deserve a first kiss that wasn't to stop a Brazilian mobster from killing us, though." 

"It's just a kiss. I'll have more to make up for it." 

He looks down at his folded hands, obviously still feeling bad about it. You shift in your seat so one knee is on the couch and one foot on the ground so you can face him better. "Do you remember your first kiss?" 

"Kind of. Steve told me it was a girl named Tracy. I was fourteen and she was four inches taller than me so I stood on the curb and kissed her after our first date at the ice cream shop. Her lips tasted like strawberry sherbert. I hated strawberries. Then she bit my lip so hard it bled 'cause I guess her older sister gave her bad advice." 

"Ouch." you laugh. "That's pretty bad." 

"Wasn't the worst. One time a girl led with her tongue." 

You cringe and Bucky chuckles. 

"It's late," he says, glancing over at the clock on the wall. It was quickly approaching 2 am. 

"Yeah, I should try and go to bed now." You stand up and Bucky follows. As you walk back to your room you stop at the door, leaning on the threshold. "Why were you up in the first place?" 

He presses his lips together grimly. "Nightmare." 

You nod knowingly. "That's the worst." He nods back. You stand in silence for a moment before you push off the door frame. "Goodnight Bucky." 

"Goodnight." he smiles and you go into your respective rooms. 

* * *

 

You're back at the park the next day. Obviously, there was something important going on there. You and Bucky decided to go a little more disguised this time in case the same men returned so both wore baseball caps and you sported a pair of sunglasses. As for outfits, it was still hot and humid so you wore a pair of thin linen light blue pants and a gray tank top. Bucky wore a pale blue t-shirt and jeans. You found yourselves a spot atop a hill surrounded by trees. From the spot it was easy to see the National Museum and a good portion of the park while providing good coverage. Plus, to maintain the cover you brought a blanket and a bag of snacks. The best stakeouts also come with a picnic. 

You're munching on plantain chips you picked up from the store when Bucky taps on your shoulder and you see two men that look suspiciously like the ones from the other night entering the museum. 

"We're not following this time."

"Nope," Bucky answers, sliding a camera over to you. You take pictures of their profiles. 

"Do you have any theories on what is even happening?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. seems to think it's something extraterrestrial." 

"And you disagree?" 

"I don't... not agree... I don't know. I didn't think I'd ever live in a world that aliens also live in but here I am." 

"Fair." 

You watch the men disappear into the museum. Now you wait. 

It took four hours for them to come back out. Four hours. You practically jumped for joy when you saw them depart, snapping a few more pictures as they walked out of the park towards the parking lot. 

It was time to finally investigate the museum. You and Bucky packed up the picnic and started towards the museum. In the daylight, the structure was even more beautiful despite the charring. You go in the same door as the last time and slowly make your way towards the room the men were in last night. Bucky had his weapon drawn, clearing each room before passing. You finally made it, and to your disappointment, found an empty room. 

"This is anti-climatic." you mutter. 

"Let's still look around here and in the surrounding rooms. Maybe they left something." 

You start in opposite corners picking through the leftover burnt furniture and looking under structures and gatherings of ash. The room wasn't horribly large, but it took nearly an hour before you came across a small opening in the wall that came up to your waist. It had a handle and you turned it slowly, half expecting something to pop out at you. Nothing did, but the small compartment was not empty. 

"Bucky. Found something," you call out. Within seconds you feel his presence behind you. "Do you have gloves?" 

"Let me." you stand back and he reaches his vibranium arm in, pulling out a small vile with the top missing. It was mostly empty except for a bit of dark green substance dried to the bottom. 

"What is it?" you ask, peering over Bucky's arm at it as he turned it over in the light. 

"No clue. We can send it to Tony and Bruce, they can figure it out." 

You finish going through the area and check some of the other rooms but there was nothing else that seemed suspicious. It's nearly dusk when you drive back to Azul, your eyelids growing heavy in the car. Bucky is on the phone with Steve as he explains the findings with him. You finally give in to the exhaustion, nodding off into a strange state of light sleep in which you are still aware of Bucky and Steve's conversation, but not really comprehending it well. 

_"Can she hear me?"_

There's a short pause.

"She's asleep," Bucky chuckles. 

_"How's she doing?"_ Steve asks. 

"Good. She found the vial." 

_"You guys getting along?"_

There's a short pause. 

"Really good, actually. She's great and we've really hit it off."

_"Oh hit it off, huh?"_ Steve's voice is more suggestive.

"Oh stop, you know what I mean. I like her, we're friends." 

_"I can hear it in your voice, buddy, you think shes--"_

"Jesus Steve, maybe your age is finally catchin' up. We gotta get you an aid." 

_"Whatever, just don't let your 'friendship' interfere with anything._ "

"You're the worst. Talk to you later." 

"Bye Buck." 

The phone cuts out and the music comes back on. It's a slow song in Portuguese. A sad song from the sounds. It fades into your sleep, further blurring the lines and drawing you into a deeper slumber as the notes fade out and the beginnings of a dream begin. Just as many car sleeps you have had, you still have a sliver of consciousness as the bumpiness of the road and the changing in songs holds you grounded. The vehicle eventually comes to a stop and you're acutely aware of the jingle of the keys. The sensation of warmth and then flying hits you. You're being carried. 

You wake up more as your back hits a soft surface. Your eyes flutter open and you realize Bucky is placing you in bed, slipping his hands from under your knees and back. 

"You should've wak'n me." you say drowzily, already succumbing back into sleep as your body stretches out on the bed. 

"You need it. I'm going to bed too." he whispers. 

"If ya have 'nother bad dream... you can sleep here." 

"What?" he ask. You yawn and open your eyes a little to look at him peering over you. 

"You sleep at Steve's sometimes. Heard him say it. Jus' offerin' if you need." 

He smiles, his cheeks a little pink. "Ah. I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

"No problem. G'night, Bucky." your eyes close again as you drift back into sleep. Faraway you hear Bucky reply "goodnight [y/n]" and the door shut softly. 

 

 

 


	5. The Night Out

You woke up to the sun already shining through the window. You sit up in bed, immediately alert. The night before comes flooding back. You remember falling asleep in the car, waking up to Bucky's arms slipping out from underneath you... you inviting him into bed with you? Oh good. Thanks, drowsy [y/n] for that one. 

You pad out into the living room to find Bucky seated at the kitchen table typing away on his tablet. He glances up at you giving you a polite smile. 

"Coffee's fresh," 

"God bless." you beeline for the pot, pouring yourself a mug and adding a spoonful of sugar and a hint of creamer. You sit down across from him at the table and he wrinkles his nose at your drink. 

"How do you drink it that sweet?" 

"Very carefully," you reply, earning you an amused eye roll. The banter and, dare you say it, the friendship that has blossomed between you two warms your heart. A week ago Bucky was this mysterious lone wolf of the compound that you wanted to reach out to. He of all people would understand your past so you had hoped you would find something on that common ground. It took until a lone mission to make it happen, but you're glad that it was happening. "Did you send the sample?" 

"Drone picked it up this morning. Steve will call with results." 

"You didn't wake me up." 

"You seemed like you could use the sleep." 

You glance down at the dark bags under his own eyes. 

"And you don't?" 

He shrugs, closing the tablet case and giving you his full attention. 

"Sleep and I are not really friends." 

"Super soldier or not, you need it." 

He grimaces. "I can fall asleep at any moment if I need to. It's quality of sleep that's the problem." 

His nightmares. They're infamously horrible in the compound. His room is on the other side of the hall from yours but there are times when you can hear his yelling from that distance. 

"Have you ever tried a weighted blanket?" you ask, taking a sip of your coffee. 

"A weighted--what would that do?" 

"Helps with anxiety, helped with my own nightmares a little bit 'cause I felt safer." 

"So it feels like someone holding you, then?" 

Your cheeks heat up slightly. You hadn't really thought about that before. You suppose he's right. 

"I guess. When we get back you can borrow mine for a night. See if it makes any difference." 

He nods.

"I'll try anything to get a good nights rest... Thanks." 

The morning continues with light conversation intermingled with a bit of productivity on the case. You upload the photos of the men into the database and find out they are unidentified by name, but their faces have popped up in a few of the previous attacks across Brazil. Definitely of interest. You and Bucky had moved to the living room, him sitting on the couch and you sprawled out on the armchair adjacent. 

"The one with the scar looks like a Greg." you point to the man that observed Bucky and you in your improv kiss. His skin as a whole was a deep tan color, but a Y shaped scar cut into his forehead, creating a pale line stretching from his temple and his hairline to just below his eyebrow. Bucky raises an eyebrow at you. 

"You're naming him?" 

"Barnes, why do you feel the need to judge everything I do?"

"I'm not judging you I'm--"

"Pure judgment, you think I'm crazy or--"

"Oh, hush, if you keep the dramatics up I'm not lettin' you sleep in anymore," You raise an eyebrow at him as he stumbles through his statement. "You just... fascinate me I guess."

"What does that even mean?"

"I dunno. I can't explain it. Your mind works differently than mine. Never know what's gonna come out of your mouth next. You're a goddamn wild card." 

"Is that a good thing?" 

"Keeps me on my toes." he laughs. From the way he smiles, you gather that it is indeed, a good thing. 

"What name do you think he looks like?" you hold up a picture of the other guy, a rather handsome fellow despite the permanent scowl on his lips, with thick brown hair and big brown eyes. 

Bucky examines the photo for a moment, looking back and forth between him and you. 

"Do I have to?" he whines.

"Yes. Name the perp." 

"Why?"

"Comedic effect. Come on, you got it in you." 

He sighs, looking at the picture one more time. 

"Jackson," he says confidently, looking at you for confirmation. You turn the photo around, looking at the man once more. 

"I could it. So we have Greg and Jackson, bad guys playing with some glowing green stuff in places that people are disappearing."

"So are they aliens?"

"Maybe. Why do they think it's extraterrestrial in the first place? I read the reports, there's nothing solid on that theory." 

Bucky shrugs. "Everything weird in the world seems to stem back to aliens these days." 

You stare at the file in front of you, not really reading it, just staring at the page itself. Thinking. 

"True, but we shouldn't assume..." you trail off, sliding a few old pictures from previous scenes from the file. You slip off the chair and kneel on the ground, laying out the photos on the coffee table. Bucky watches your movements patiently. 

There are photos from seven of the scenes of disappearances. You had noticed something in the ash when you were investigating the museum. A pattern, but it didn't really stand out to you at the time. 

You point to the first picture taken the day prior. "Do you see these marks in the ash? Circles equal distance from each other in a four-foot diameter. I thought it was from a piece of furniture or something removed after the fire but..." You slide two of the photos from other scenes in front of him. "Same circles in the carpet here... and here." 

Bucky picks up the three photos, holding them in front of him. His eyes widen. 

"So there's something, a machine or whatever, that is at all of these scenes," he says.

"Maybe it's what makes the light. Maybe the vials have something to do with it." 

"Okay, so at least we know what to look for. Something that makes this pattern." 

"That's a start at least." 

After a few more hours of work, you excused yourself to go take a shower. When you came out, squeezing your hair with a towel you noticed that Bucky had changed clothes, now wearing dark jeans and a sky blue henley tee. His hair was combed and now styled with the top layer pulled back into a messy braid. 

"What is this, you goin' on a date or something?"  

You could have sworn you spotted a blush rise up in his cheeks but you decided to ignore that. 

"It's been a long day. Steve said the results will be read in the morning, so... I was thinking we check out the city." 

"I mean-- I guess, alright. I'll get changed." you look down at your athletic shorts and baggy sleep shirt. Not exactly going out-on-the-town material.

You go back into your room and pull out a few options. In terms of packing, you pretty much stuck to things that were easy to fight in if needed, so your options were limited. You dig out a pair of black pants that make your ass look fantastic and a black tank top that is relatively loose on you. When in doubt, black is always a go-to. You slip on the clothes, spicing the plain tank top up by tieing a knot in the front so a thin line of your midriff shows between the hem of the shirt and the high waist of your jeans. 

As for your hair and face, you towel dry your hair as best as you can but ultimately decide to let it hair dry. The sun will be going down soon so the humidity should decrease enough to not cause your hair to puff up to a ridiculous degree. Not in the mood to put a full face of makeup on, you apply a little bit of concealer to your under-eye area to brighten up your dark circles and swipe on a thin line of eyeliner and top with mascara. You set the concealer with powdered foundation and brush it across your entire face lightly to even out your skin. You finish with a hint of blush and some tinted chapstick. You look at yourself in the mirror, satisfied with your ten-minute transformation. On the way out of your room, you grab your leather jacket from atop your bed and walk out into the living room. 

Plopping down on the couch, you begin lacing up your boots. You're halfway through your second one when you notice Bucky's eyes on you. You look up, internally in awe at just how blue his shirt makes his eyes look. It's breathtaking.

"You look... really nice," he says, giving you a once over as you stand up, boots on and ready to go. 

"Thank you, you clean up well yourself." 

He smiles, standing and heading towards the door. You follow. 

You decide to walk into town since it is only ten minutes away and parking is a bitch anyways. The road is dark, but the closer you get the more lit the area is. With your own powers and Bucky by your side, you don't feel unsafe at all. 

You start the night at a popular nightclub. Apparently, Bucky was milling around on Yelp. It's large, bustling with young people dancing and drinking. Not exactly the scene you would have expected Bucky to choose, but the choice excites you. The last time you were in a club... well the club nearly imploded because you drank too much and lost control. Not an ideal night...

You and Bucky take a seat at the end of the bar. It's a little quieter in this corner. He orders a whiskey and you order margarita on the rocks. Margaritas aren't really your thing, usually too tart for you. It's perfect for encouraging you to nurse it for much of the night and prevent any drunken meltdowns. 

You sip on your drink, taking in the environment. Next, to you, you feel Bucky's eyes on you, then they advert, and then they are back. He opens his mouth and then closes it. This repeats a few times before you sigh, facing him.

"What is it?" 

"What is... okay," he also sighs, biting the inside of his lip. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you are extremely well-adjusted for someone with... your history." 

"That's what you were agonizing over saying?" you chuckle, trying to keep things light.

"I didn't want to offend..." 

"You could never," you look into his eyes. "If I couldn't handle the offensive shit people throw at me, I wouldn't be here right now. Besides, saying I'm well-adjusted is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me." 

He gives you a sad smile. A knowing one. 

"I feel... fake sometimes," you continue, the slight buzz of tequila giving you a bit of bravery. "When I smile or feel happy I feel guilty because I'm not miserable. Does that even make sense?" 

"Yeah, I know what you mean." 

"I think about the bad things I did every day. Every single day. Some days I really feel it. But most days, I just get up and go along as normal. I'm pretty sure I'm going to crack one day. All that fuck-up is just waiting to crash down on me." 

"That scares me too. Sometimes I feel like I will go to sleep and wake up and Bucky will be gone forever. It'll just be him and no one will know it ain't me." 

"Didn't they..." you swirl your finger close to your head, not really knowing how to explain them deactivating his programming. 

"Yeah, but I still worry." 

You nod, definitely knowing the feeling. 

He brings his drink to his lips, nearly downing the entire thing in one gulp. You raise an eyebrow at him as he sets the mostly empty glass back down on the bar. He chuckles. 

"Unfortunately, alcohol doesn't affect me the way it used to."

"Why spend the money on it then?" 

He shrugs. "It's what I would do when out with a lady friend back in the day." 

"So I'm a lady friend now?" you giggle.

"You're a lady and you're my friend, so ya, that 'lright?" 

"Sure, sure. So you go out with your  _lady friend_ , order a whiskey, then what?" 

His cheeks grow pink and he stares off into the crowd, holding his glass loosely in his hands. Nostalgia. You would recognize that blissful gaze anywhere. 

"Now I don't remember much. Accordin' to Stevie, I was quite the dancer." You laugh at this, the idea of Bucky Barnes dancing playing in your mind. He nudges your arm. "Okay, okay, not today's dancing, if you could call it that. This was the 40's! My ma made it mandatory to learn how to swing dance as kids and I was a freakin' natural." He pauses, a hint of sadness crossing his brightened features. "At least according to Steve..." he mutters, just quiet enough that you only barely pick it up. 

You want to hug him. He has this life that he loves so much but can't remember for himself. An idea pops into your head and you down the remainder of your drink, the tequila immediately buzzing through you as you set down the empty glass and stand from the bar. 

"Let's go." You say, holding out a hand. 

"Let's go where?" 

"Dancing." 

"No." 

"Yes!" you reach out and grab his hand, the coldness of his metal fingers jarring to you in the hot room filled with people. He doesn't recoil. 

"[y/n], I dunno if you noticed, but I don't remember much from my past. Dancing was not spared." 

"Have you tried?" 

He does not reply. 

You pull him to his feet and he follows without argument. Guiding him to the dance floor you find a relatively empty area without many people. When you reach it you turn back, taking his other hand in your empty one. 

"Listen," you say, having to step closer to him because of the pumping music. It's fast and in Portuguese. You feel the urge to move your hips just from the beat. "I'm gonna say some nerdy shit but bear with me. I spent a lot of time after I escaped trying to figure out what they did to me. I sat in the library reading anatomy textbooks and neuroscience theory." you begin to sway to the beat, and his hand reaches down to lightly rest on the dip of your waist, his fingers confined to the clothed areas. "The memory that they wiped out on you, that was episodic. It's events, people, things you experienced and can imagine in your mind. Am I right?" 

He nods. 

"Right. But dancing, that's muscle memory. It's procedural and that is not stored in the hippocampus, which is what I'm assuming they focused on. It's stored more in the motor cortex." 

You take a step forward, initiating a sort of two-step. An easy enough sequence for an inexperienced dancer such as yourself. His body tightens, but his legs move with you, in perfect sync. They take your lead as he stares down at his feet as they move with perfect rhythm. His eyes meet yours and he smiles, but it's a different smile than the ones he has displayed. This one dazzles you, squeezes the breath out of your lungs as it reaches nearly ear to ear and excites a shimmering twinkle in his eyes. His cheeks glow as his hand around your waist relaxes, and he takes the lead from you. 

And suddenly you are spinning, well maybe the better term is swinging. He guides you as you shadow the first few steps, now your eyes on your clumsy feet as he matches the rhythm of the fast-paced song. He pulls you back, kicking his legs out and you do your best to mimic his motions. Many people have stopped dancing with one another and have taken notice of your outdated dance moves. When you look at him to voice your concern you can't find it in you to break the absolute bliss that is on his face. You have never seen him so relaxed and so happy. 

His hand lets go of yours and you feel like you are practically slingshot to the side, jetting out until his arm pulls you slack and you whip back, almost running into his chest. You let out a loud laugh, a huge smile across your face as you regain your footing and get used to the fairly simple steps. 

You're having  _fun_ you realize as he spins you again, the neon lights of the club blurring in your vision until you meet his grinning face once again. You never were permitted to have a normal life of going to high school dances or going out with friends when you became of age. You didn't get a college experience of sneaking into night clubs or going to fraternity formals. This is something you missed out on that you never stopped to consider as being a monumental moment in your life. 

You dance for maybe an hour or so before sobering up enough to realize that you were  _exhausted_. Bucky looked like he could go all night but you managed to convince him to go with you to the bar for a glass of water to recover. 

You sit on the stool, flexing your aching calves as he stands before you, nearly jittery with excitement. He bounces his foot to the beat of the songs, his fingers drumming on his side. You wish you had some super-soldier serum at this moment to keep up with this big ball of energy.

Suddenly, he stops his fidgeting and looks at you. His grin turns into a bashful half-smile. 

"Thank you, [y/n]. This... this is great." 

You smile, taking in the tender moment. An obnoxious blaring of the beginning of the next song cuts into the thick air between you and you both chuckle at the timing. 

It's nearly midnight when you manage to pull Bucky out of the nightclub. Your entire body is buzzing with exhaustion and you need to be horizontal in bed, stat. The air is cooler than normal tonight, feeling amazing on your moistened skin. A sigh of relief leaves your body as the music grows softer and softer. No imploded night clubs. 

"I never took up Sam's offers to go out because I didn't feel like getting shit for not being able to dance. If I knew I could still do that..." 

"You would go clubbing with Sam and Natasha?"

"Well... probably still no." 

"That's fair. Last week I saw Sam walk in with two different shoes on his feet. They were both right feet, too." 

"Sounds about right," he chuckles. 

"Maybe if--" you're cut off by the sound of a shrill scream slice through the air, followed by a bright green light that illuminates the sky and a high pitched buzz. It's gone in an instant, and then silence, followed by a chorus of yelling. 

You look down to see Bucky's hand clutching yours, your body flanked by his that had slid in front of you. You look at each other and he releases your hand as you break out into runs towards the source of the chaos.

 

 


	6. The Flashbacks

The Battle of New York was one of those moments that people all across America--across the world, really-- can remember when the breaking news banner spread across the news screen. You were at a diner in Kansas, sipping on stale coffee. You drank it black back then. You remember seeing the aliens pour out of the sky above the iconic skyline of New York City, shots of the Avengers, a group of superheroes banding together to combat the seemingly unstoppable force. You sat there in that diner, your grilled cheese long forgotten by both you and the waitress, watching the news' coverage of the fight. At that moment, the patrons and staff at the shitty roadside diner were bonded in the trauma of discovering that we are not alone in the galaxy. When the news displayed the resolution and the video of Iron Man disappearing up into the wormhole and then falling back down aired, the diner sat in complete silence. One by one, we got up and left, not a bill paid or a word spoken by anyone. 

As you run towards the origin of that ominous green light, you can't help but get transported back to that moment. Whatever you will find may be your first real experience with aliens. Or it could be a device that is much, much, worse because it is something that a human is doing to another human. Either way, you can't help but realize that for these people, the attacks may be their Battle of New York. They could forever remember the moment their neighbor disappeared into a green glowing void, plagued by the existential crisis that it induces. 

Bucky rounds the corner and you follow closely behind, the source of the problem immediately obvious when it comes into view. Unlike the other attacks, the building that seemed to contain the device was completely decimated, rubble scattered across a radius of maybe 50 yards. People were everywhere, either searching through the rubble or aiding those that look to have been injured from the collapse of the building. The most heart-wrenching part is the groupings of people sobbing into the arms of others. Those that had a loss. 

"What the hell," Bucky says softly, taking in the entire scene. 

"This one was different. Something's changed." 

He looks at you, his expression saying exactly what you're thinking--  _was this because of us?_

* * *

It took almost all night to aid in cleaning up the building. You and Bucky opted to stick around and help not only to assist the traumatized locals but also to try and find any other clues to the device that caused the incident. 

Besides a broken vial similar to the one found at the museum, and a few pieces of scrap metal that did not match the rest of the building structure, there was really nothing to show for. 

Ten people vanished, and a broken vial and scrap metal was the only clues to their disappearance. The concept makes you sick. 

The sun is rising and the police have finally gotten around to closing off the scene. You and Bucky stand nearby, watching closely. 

"Steve said they are going as fast as they can on identifying the substance. I sent the metal and vial in for analysis."  

"The mission file said they were getting close to predicting these. Why didn't they tell us about this?" 

Bucky's jaw sets. His gaze remains fixed on the police unraveling crime scene tape. "This wasn't predicted." 

"Could it be a copycat?" 

He shakes his head. "I don't see how you could copy this. If anything, it was them tweaking their process. Them destroying that building caused way more damage than the other attacks. Ten people gone, but over two dozen injured." 

He's right. You hate that's he's right. Oh, how you wanted this to be a simple mission. Basic recon, gather intelligence, maybe kick some ass and save an entire continent from alien invasion. This... this is devastating yet strangely familiar. 

You excuse yourself, Bucky hardly batting an eye as you walk back behind an adjacent building, pressing your back into the wall and slipping down so you're sitting on the hard ground. 

 

_Sirens. There was only one at first but soon it was joined by a chorus of others at slightly different tones and speeds. You're walking with your friend back from school as you count the emergency vehicles that fly by you. Eleven._

_You wonder what is going on, making a few conjectures before turning a corner and noticing a giant cloud of billowing black smoke creating an ominous form above the roof peaks of your neighbors. A fire. In the direction of your home... You don't even look at your friend let alone give her an explanation to the sinking feeling in your stomach and the sudden urgency in your step as you take off down the street._

_It takes only a few moments before you're standing at the foot of the ruined house. Nothing left but charred plywood, shards of furniture and glass. You just... stand there as a large group of neighbors and emergency personnel stand close behind the crime scene tape you ignored. Like you too will explode in place._

_Your mind was so blank. It's a feeling you have never experienced. In the wake of finding your childhood home was torn apart and your family nowhere in sight, but a coroner parked on the corner, you expected to be screaming. Crying. Breaking apart completely. Yet you stood there staring at the ruins with dry eyes._

 

Flashing back to that day always withdraws you. You know that it does yet you can't help but relate the carnage of this case to that moment. You wonder if it was assigned to you for this reason besides your language ability. They wanted to see how you handled facing similar traumas to your childhood. S.H.I.E.L.D. was known to test their agents in such ways and you don't doubt the Avenger's draw from their playbook. 

"[Y/N]?" you hear Bucky calling for you. You blink a few times, placing that memory back in the locked filing cabinet you keep it in and stand up. He rounds the corner just as you are brushing off dirt from your pants. "You good?" 

"Yeah, just... needed a break."

He nods, his own eyelids are droopy with exhaustion. You both have been awake well over twenty-four hours. 

"They got the results of the mystery substance." 

* * *

 

"So what is it?" You ask into the camera. Tony and Bruce are crowded around a table in the lab, various hoses and glassware cluttering the area. A holographic image of a complex chemical structure appears from a device on Tony's hand. 

"That is a fantastic question and one that I will answer," Tony pinches the holograph and it complies with his touch, zooming in. "So in  _common folk_   _terms_ for you high school educated kids, this is a complex mixture of a variety of nasty stuff that basically swallows organic matter within a certain radius-- depending on the amount of the catalyst-- as breaks it down into individual atoms that disperse. You've heard of pink mist, well this is its scary older brother with a chemistry degree." 

Bucky glances at you at the mention of pink mist. You try to ignore the nagging at the back of your mind to think about your family once again. You already took your time to grieve back at the site. You can have a breakdown when you get back to the compound, but there is not time for that now.

"Why do you think they're doing it?" you ask.

"My guess, test runs for something bigger. Enough catalyst, this thing could take out an entire city." Banner cuts in as Tony nods grimly in agreement. 

"The objective isn't determining the pattern and stopping the attack in action, you guys need to find where they're  _making_ this thing."

"Making it... It's human?" you ask in surprise. 

"Unless it's an alien that only uses substances found on Earth and ignores all the fun space things that could probably do just this far more efficiently--"

"Yes, it's probably human." Bruce interrupts Tony's long-winded sarcasm, answering your question with a polite smile. 

"Mr. America should be sending you some lists of facilities that could contain the proper tools to manufacture this substance by morning. We will let you know if we have any other pertinent information, but in the meantime for the love of god, go to sleep. You guys look horrible." 

"Thanks, Tony," you roll your eyes. As if you don't know you're practically a zombie. Bruce waves and they disappear from the screen. 

Thick silence fills the room as the weight of the day and the new information sets in properly. Bucky rubs his bloodshot eyes and stands from the table, only to basically throw himself onto the couch a few feet away, groaning in relief of laying down for the first time in almost 36 hours. 

"Dancing," he says, his voice muffled through the cushions, "was a horrible idea for during a mission." 

You agree with that. Usually having to be awake 36 hours is bad, but not this bad. Those few hours really did a number on the two of you. 

You stand up, coming behind the couch and reaching down to pat him on the back. "Come on, Barnes, time for bed." 

"I'm sleeping here," he says, sounding like a whining seven-year-old. You heard Sam teasing Bucky about how he acts ridiculous when sleep deprived... is this what he meant? 

"You'll get a crick in your neck, just go to your bed," you sigh and he groans into the cushion again.

"Bucky, you're acting like a child," 

"Okay." 

"Bucky--"

"I'm fine here." 

You scoff, standing back and holding your hand out. Beneath the back legs of the couch, you produce bulky matter that tips it over in a matter of seconds, sending Bucky to the floor. Just as quick as it tips, you make it disappear and the couch returns to normal. Bucky's head pops up from behind, his eyes accusatory before he spies you all the way on the other side of the room. They flash with confusion and then widen.

"Did you just--"

"Goodnight!" you interrupt, slipping into your room and shutting the door behind you before he can scold you for using your powers as a prank.

You slip into bed, already falling asleep as you lie down and close your eyes. Insomnia doesn't touch you this night and you slip into a deep sleep as your head hits the pillow. The last thing you think about is the look on Bucky's face when he spun you around and the ghost feeling of his hand resting on your waist. 

You wish your dreams brought back the memories of those hours in the club, but your subconscious has other plans. In your slumber, you relive the events following the decimation of your home until you wake up at daybreak in a cold sweat. 

The sun is only barely peering into the room but you shuffle into the kitchen anyway, starting a pot of coffee. Still exhausted, you sit down on the kitchen floor with your back against the cabinets, passing the time by forming a sphere of matter in your hand and rolling it around your fingers before making it disappear. The coffee finishes brewing and you grab a mug, settling back on the floor. 

You're at the point of tiredness that you just feel hollow. You stare straightforward towards a bare wall and let your mind run blank, absentmindedly sipping your coffee every few moments. Numbness spreads throughout you. You don't know if its the emotionally charged memories running through your mind or the hard ground cutting off circulation in your legs, but either way it feels appropriate for how shitty you feel. 

You're at an internal battle with yourself. One part of you is that child standing at the ruins of her home. She just wants to curl up in a ball and wake up the next day with it all being a big nightmare. The other part of you is a hardened Avenger, strong and stoic, ready to drop everything to save the world at any moment. Nothing can hurt her and nothing does. 

Yet, you find yourself somewhere in between. It's a slippery spectrum. For must of this mission, you have been good, hanging tight to the hero you want to be. Everything has just been... so hard. So familiar. You're falling and you don't know what to do to get yourself back up. You may not feel like a hero, but you want to be one. Everyone around you is telling you it's your path and you pray that they're right.

Bucky wakes up about an hour later, padding out of his room wearing just a pair of sweatpants. His hair is tousled with fresh bed-head. He looks more refreshed than usual. Maybe a good night for him. He nearly jumps when he sees you. 

"Jesus, what the hell are you doing?" he exclaims, walking to and crouching down in front of you.

"Drinking coffee."

He rolls his eyes. "Well, I can  _see_ that. Why are you on the ground?" 

You shrug. "Just... thinking."

He sighs, pouring his own cup. To your surprise, he slips down to sit next to you. 

"Do you want sugar?" 

You shake your head. He frowns.

"Okay, what's wrong?" 

"Nothing's wrong. Can a girl not sit on the kitchen floor and nothing be wrong?" 

"Yes, but something is wrong. You haven't been yourself since last night. Did I do something? Did.... did dancing make--"

"No, Bucky, no, the club was not it at all. That was fun; I had a great time."

"Then what is it?" he asks. You set your coffee down on the ground, pulling your knees into your chest and running your hands through your hair. 

"It's just... bringing back memories. Bad memories." 

He's silent for a moment, but then you hear him exhale deeply. 

"This is... hitting close to home."

"Literally," you scoff. "And listen, I don't want you to think that I'm unfit to be on this mission cause I'm fine. I have been compartmentalizing this shit for years, I know when I need to get my head in the game as long as I have some--"

"Y/N, it's okay, I'm not gonna pull you out." You let out a breath of relief. Bucky smiles at you, warmth spreading through your chest. "We are all haunted by our past in different ways. The Avengers may as well be the poster children for PTSD, the shit we've seen. The things some of us have done..." 

"You guys are just so... I don't know how you do it." 

"Not gracefully, sometimes," he grimaces. "It's a daily battle. I still find it hard to not fall into "robotic mode" as Sam likes to call it. Sometimes it's easier to wake up, eat, work, sleep, and repeat without thinking about what I'm doing. Confronting the fact that I was born a hundred years ago and still get ID'd at the liquor store is a lot to unpack. Living at the compound, being an Avenger helps more than just the rest of the world when Loki decides to mess around with things he shouldn't. It gave me a life." 

"A family," you say softly, and he nods. 

"It's okay to not be okay. I am the worst at taking my own advice, but sometimes letting other people in can be the best way to find out that you aren't so alone in this... Jesus, I sound like Steve now."

"He would be proud." you chuckle.

"Proud is his resting form."

You and Bucky sit on the floor making little jabs at Steve for a few moments before trailing off into that comfortable silence you always seem to find with one another. You only kind of feel bad that Cap is the butt of your jokes to try and transition from quite a heavy topic into less raw territory. You're sure he wouldn't mind if he found out. 

Bucky gives you a nod, getting to his feet and holding his hand out for you. You take him by the forearm and he pulls you up. 

"C'mon, we have some ass kicking to do." 

 


	7. The Laboratory

Sharp pain pulsates at your side. You clutch it, the warmth of your powers dancing along the wound causing it to sting before you are left with a makeshift pressurized bandage over the wound. You can deal with the repercussions of your less than satisfactory field medicine later. 

Around you, chaos ensues. Red lights are flashing, illuminating the darkened lab, which looks to have been hit with a tornado.

You bend down, wincing as you pick up the sat phone from the ground. Blowing the dust off the top from the concave ceiling, you hold it up to your ear, relieved to hear the sounds of numerous people chattering in the background. 

"Hello?" you say, your voice raspy and dry. The line goes silent and then suddenly everyone is yelling at once. A booming voice that you recognize as Tony's yells over them until everyone quiets down and you hear just his on the other end of the phone. 

"Are you okay? What happened" 

**One hour earlier**

You and Bucky sit in the car hidden behind a dense patch of trees. You're picking at your tactical pants that Tony made for you-- your official Avengers uniform. It's cool, but... it's far too hot and humid for this many layers. You slip the jacket off at least, allowing the tank top you opted for instead of the reinforced to cool your overheating body.

Bucky has a pair of tricked out Stark binoculars held up to his eyes as he reads out numbers of people within the compound in various sectors. You're taking notes, grimacing at the paper as you realize you and him are already grossly outnumbered.

"We can't go in there guns a-blazing," you say when he finishes, counting up at least a dozen armed guards, around eight scientists, and fifteen or so other people that may or may not be armed. 

His jaw sets as he stares at the specs of the building. No air ducts to crawl through because of the laboratory ventilation or secret entrances. Just a front door, a few alarmed emergency exits, and lots of security. 

"There's always a way in," he mutters, scanning the blueprints for the third time. 

You think back to the museum. Why you couldn't just tear through the walls to escape. Looking at the building you realize something. "Wait, where are the support beams in the blueprints?"

He looks at you, his eyes widening before shifting so you could see the paper better. He points to some demarcations on the plans. 

"Can you do it?" he asks.

"Definitely." 

For a laboratory participating in highly criminal activity, the outside of the compound was relatively unguarded. Bucky activated a device to loop the cameras so you both could sneak down to the backside of the building. You found the wall you were looking for, a supply closet with an external wall that opens directly into the hallway leading into the main lab. It bypasses the main entrance and other security measures. Bucky stands with his back to you, gun raised and ready for anything as you set down your weapon, closing your eyes and concentrating your energy on the wall before you. 

Your nerves calm as that familiar humming in your fingertips spread up your arm, tickling your spine and settling as an ache deep in the back of your head. You hear Bucky intake a breath beside you as the wall basically melts away at your will. You open one eye, watching your progress as the hole finally becomes big enough for the both of you to slip in. Bucky goes in and you follow after. He places a device on the wall, which looks to fill in the gaps and form a whole new wall just like the cloaking device on his metal arm. You reach out slowly, surprised to find that the hole you created was still there. An escape route if needed. 

Activating a thermal scanner, you check out the hallway. Clear. 

You raise your weapon, trying your best to control your breathing as Bucky slowly opens the door. You clear the area as you move towards the lab. You find it strangely quiet. You haven't encountered any security, no guards. No nothing. 

"Something isn't right," you whisper.

"I got a bad feeling about this," he mutters as you stop before the final doors of the lab. He looks at you nod, indicating that you're ready to breach the lab. With a silent count of three, he kicks down the heavy door, and the yelling and alarms begin. 

The lab is large and extremely high tech. It reminds you of Tony's lab, but not quite as tricked out with all the bells and whistles. There are vented hoods along the back wall with the center containing a grouping of tables all filled with various set-ups and chemistry equipment you remember from high school chemistry. There are two emergency exits, both containing two guards. They start to run at you as soon as the door goes flying across the room, nearly striking a grouping of half a dozen scientists in white coats cluttered around the middle tables. 

Bucky was off in a blur, taking out guards left and right. Scientists were throwing themselves out of the way, gathering papers and notebooks in their arms as they fled for any close exits. This was where you came in. 

While Bucky eliminated any threats, you focused on maintaining control. The doors sealed, windows covered by blocks of matter. They staggered back in shock, some trying to get behind you but with just a raise of a hand they backed off, fear etched across their faces. You smirk in satisfaction. You usually hate it when people fear you, but in this instance, it's quite helpful to not have to use your rather subpar hand-to-hand combat. You bark orders at the group of scientists in Portuguese, telling them you are there to retrieve the substance to be destroyed, not to hurt them... unless they give you a reason of course. From the decreased bullets flying and people yelling, it seems that Bucky has made his way through the guards. 

" _Where is it_?" he yells, allowing his resting murder face to shine through, which essentially scares the shit out of the scientists even more than your powers do. 

" _It's not here!"_ One screams, looking between the two of you with great stress across her face. 

" _Bullshit! Where. Is. It?"_ Bucky repeats again pointing his gun towards the woman. She screams, dropping back down to the floor.

"Don't point that at her, they probably are forced to work on this," you hiss at Bucky, who drops the barrel of his machine gun to an unconscious guard instead. His expression is neutral, detached. You don't like this side of Bucky but you're sure this is his way of dealing with being in combat again.  _"Do you know where it is?"_ You ask the woman.

_"It is created here, yes, but we have finished the serum. It is stored in Lab 2B._ "

"Shit," you glance at the door which has a large 1B written across the front. 

You motion for the door and Bucky crosses the room to meet you. You exit the lab, sealing the scientists and guards in. The hallway is surprisingly quiet for all the attention you have drawn to yourselves, now only illuminated by the red flashing light of the alert system. Bucky pulls out a sat phone, dialing a number and pressing it to his ear as you take point on clearing the area as you search for Lab 2B. 

"Yeah, this is Bucky Barnes, we have infiltrated the lab, but the substance is locked up in another lab. They know we're here now... yes I know... What the hell do you--... fine, I will keep you on." 

He clips the phone to his belt, raising his gun again. 

"They're sending hazmat and support," he whispers. You appreciate the gesture, but you know they won't make it in time. From the look on Bucky's face, he also knows that it's up to you and him to get the substance before they decide to release it on you. 

"2B is straight ahead." 

You can already see the alarms within that lab flashing, no other movement from within. The hallway is still lacking guards, which is more unnerving than having to fight through them. They must all be inside, protecting the substance. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest now. It's one thing accidentally walking into a trap, but it's an entire other knowing that you're going to walk into a trap and walking into it anyways. 

"Just focus," he says softly as you flank either side of the doors. "There are about eight people in there. Seven armed, if my count is correct." You nod. It's correct. 

He raises a hand with three fingers. Then two. Before he can reach one, the door whooshes open, cool air from within flooding out, and you and Bucky raise your weapons but stay pressed to the wall on either side of the door, waiting for a shower of bullets. The shower doesn't come, but a voice does. 

"Welcome, Sergeant Barnes and [Y/N Y/L/N]. Please, enter."

"Somehow that makes me want to enter less," you mutter sarcastically, causing Bucky to crack a smile through the tension of... whatever the hell is happening. 

"Who are you?" Bucky yells. 

"Why don't you come out and we can talk about that like civil people. I have already had my men lower their weapons." 

You glance over, seeing that the guards were, indeed, setting their guns on the ground. They don't look happy about it, but they complied. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again and dropping his weapon to the side. You follow in suit, slowly stepping out into the open doorway. 

This lab is smaller than the other, not occupied with actual lab equipment as much as a series of large bulky machines. In the center sits a tear-drop shaped dark gray device. It's mostly made of some sort of metal that looks similar to the scrap found, but in the center sits a large window. From the door you can see there is a vial filled with green liquid, and a cabinet full of more vials behind it. In front of the machine stands a man wearing a blue dress shirt and tie but a white lab coat instead of a suit jacket. He's of average height and build... and frankly average most everything. Mauve hair styled so it's nearly combed and managed. Dull brown eyes, sunken in with age, watch your every move as you grow closer. You also notice he's speaking English to you and does not harbor a local accent. In fact, there's a tinge of a New England accent. An American. 

"Excellent," he exclaims, clapping his hands together as you and Bucky make your way front and center before the average looking man and a ring of guards with twitchy fingers. Standing to your left is none other than the familiar pair of Greg and Jackson, who look quite pissed off to see the two of you there.

"Who are you?" You ask, and the man chuckles. 

"Who am I? I should be asking who are  _you_. I recognize your assassin friend as the notorious Winter Soldier, of course. Big fan by the way. But you... must be new, eh?"

"Not important." you hiss. He seems unfazed. 

"Now who am I... Sergeant, can you answer that question for the freshman in the room?" 

Bucky looks the man up and down before sighing. "Rod West. 

"Ah, I see you did your homework. And assuming from the confusion on her face, why don't you explain who I am." 

Bucky looks at you, frustration clouding his eyes. "Ex-HYDRA. West was a scientist in the biochemistry division, fled in the '80s and was never heard from again. HYDRA assumed him dead, but I guess he's been in South America all along." 

"Well done. You get an A, Sergeant. HYDRA was a mess, focused on the wrong things. They were trying to make the next big asset when they _should have_ been listening to me. If you are trying to get across a river, then you can choose to build a bridge or swim across. Both have their cons. You could be swept away by the current. The bridge may take too much time to be built right or too dangerous if built too hastily. With my technology, you don't have to build or swim. You can just drain the river and walk across the bed."

He steps aside to show the large device. "Now, I'm sure you've figured out what this does by now." he snickers, pressing a few buttons on the control pad. The device comes to life, humming and whirring. The vial begins to spin within and you can already feel the air around you crackling as the device warms up to take action. West snaps his fingers, and the guards descend upon you and Bucky. You're immediately overwhelmed by three of them grabbing you and holding you down, ropes being tied around you and zip ties securing your hands behind your back despite how hard you are fighting and how many times you land hits on them. Bucky is also fighting hard, but they seemed prepared for him, something shooting out from across the room, striking him in the neck. He gasps, his eyes wide and then narrowing as he drives forward. Another shot and he tumbles to the ground, growing very still. Two darts stock out from the side of his neck. You bellow out his name, trying to wriggle from the guard's grasps to get to him. 

"He's alive, no need to fret," West says as he holds the shoulder of an armed guard. He's on his way out the door it seems, and you thrash more against your restraints, but they are tight around you. "But not for long," he says softly, glancing at the machine and then back at you. He winks and then pushes the shoulder of the guard, who continues on out the door of Lab 2B. The rest of the guards file out, leaving just you, an unconscious Bucky, and a whirring machine. 

Now alone, you melt away the restraints and run over to Bucky. You roll him on his back, pressing two fingers to his neck, quickly finding a strong pulse. You sigh in relief and then go over to the device, which has increased in speed. 

You need to stop it or you and Bucky will be reduced to nothing just like the other agents on this case. There has to be an off button, right? A kill switch, a big red In Case of Emergency lever. You look over the entire control board but there is nothing clearly marked. You can't take the chance of pressing random things either. 

_"Shit, shit, shit,"_ you curse, searching the base of the device for some sort of power source. It's emitting too much energy in the other direction for you to destroy using your powers. 

You go back to Bucky, shaking him. He stirs a little bit but still seems groggy from whatever sedative he was shot with. "Bucky, please, I need help. I don't know what to do," you yell, but no reply comes. No Bucky jumping into action as he has before. He's out, and you're alone. Your powers are useless as long as this device is throwing off the energy in the room and even if you could put holes in the walls to escape there's not telling the radius they have on this thing and if you would be able to carry Bucky out anyways. 

Warning lights begin to flash and lights begin to turn out around the top of the device. A green light. You stare at the light as it grows brighter, a surprising calm spreading over you. 

Suddenly, you just... know what to do. The energy is overpowering while building, but when it releases... yes it could work. 

The light grows brighter and you square up to the device, holding up your hands to it. This  _needs_ to work. 

The entire room erupts in a blinding green light as small particles pour out of the top of the tear-drop shaped device. Just as it releases, you press against it, using the released power in your favor to push the particles back, folding the device in on itself. 

A deep rumble erupts around you as the walls and ceiling form spidering cracks that spread as fast as you're pressing against the force. Glass shatters, shards of whatever is getting picked up by your field go flying past you, but you don't dare let yourself flinch. Pain encompasses your entire body, making your head feel like it will crack like an egg under the pressure and your body threatens to give in on itself just as the dark metal from the device pressurizes and collapses.

Just as quickly as it occurred, the world goes from loud, painful, and bright to quiet, with just a distance ringing in your ears. You don't know when you dropped to your knees, but you sit in that position now, hands still outstretched and tense, pointing to a room a little emptier than it was before you swallowed it out of existence. In the middle sit a circumference of small circles, consistent with what was found at the other scenes. Everything around the area looks to have been blown backward, tables and the other smaller devices scattered around the room against the walls. Most are shattered. You sigh in relief, standing up, only to nearly be brought to your knees once again. 

Sharp pain pulsates at your side. You clutch it, not remembering getting shot... maybe something sharp that whizzed past you got too close. You look at your hand to find it covered in hot, sticky blood. There isn't time to worry about a flesh wound at the moment. You wipe your hand on your pants and push through your exhaustion to hover your hand back over your side. The warmth of your powers dancing along the wound causing it to sting before you are left with a makeshift pressurized bandage over the wound. You can deal with the repercussions of your less than satisfactory field medicine later. 

You spot the sat phone sitting a few meters away. You approach it and bend down, wincing as you pick up the sat phone from the ground. Blowing the dust off the top from the concave ceiling, you hold it up to your ear, relieved to hear the sounds of numerous people chattering in the background. 

"Hello?" you say, your voice raspy and dry. The line goes silent and then suddenly everyone is yelling at once. A booming voice that you recognize as Tony's yells over them until everyone quiets down and you hear just his on the other end of the phone. 

"Are you okay? What happened" 

"I'm... I think I'm okay." you run your hand down your body, checking for any other surprise injuries but besides the slash in your side there doesn't seem to be much else. You glance over to see Bucky pinned against the wall behind a table, now awake and very alert. He shoves the table off of him with one hand, struggling to his feet. "Bucky was drugged with something but he's awake now." 

He staggers over to you, resting his arm on your shoulder for support. As much as you feel like you're about to collapse without his weight resting on you, you also don't have it in you to push him off of you. In fact, his proximity is relieving to you. 

"We, uh, have the vials in custody," you say, motioning over to them still intact in the cabinet. "We will meet up with hazmat when they arrive." 

"Rod West is still out there," Bucky says. 

"We have people on that," Tony says. "We have a team in pursuit as we speak. Just secure all of their data and that damn death substance." 

After a few other people get some words in you hang up, sighing deeply. Bucky's elbow is still resting on your shoulder, but now his arm is extended all the way across your shoulder like a young couple at a movie. You crane your neck to peer up at him. 

"Do you need to sit down or something?" 

"The room is still spinning so probably." 

You roll your eyes as he unfolds his arm from around you and nearly collapses down onto the ground, leaning back against the wall to observe the destroyed room around him. His eyebrows knit together as he watches you sit down next to him. "What happened?" His eyes flicker down to the tear in your tank top, and he inhales a sharp breath, sitting up onto his knees so his body is squared up to you. "You're hit?! Holy shit, what--"

"I couldn't stop the machine." you interrupt him, not wanting to think about the splitting pain in your side until there is a medic with a bottle of pain killers at your disposal. Distraction is your best friend at the moment. "Bad guys are getting smarter, no big red buttons. As soon as there was a power release, I used my powers to.. .well, you know. Make it go away. Everything kind of got crazy during that. You flew across the room." you chuckle at the last part. He doesn't seem phased by your attempts to make light of the situation. He is more interested in peeling back the slit of your tank top and observing the metallic substance holding the blood in your body. 

"You're kidding me." he deadpans, looking from your bandage to you as you shrug in apathy. He picks up the sat phone and dials a few numbers as his fingers absentmindedly trace the edges of the bandage ever so slightly. It doesn't hurt, and he's barely making contact with your skin, but even the slight bit of contact he does make sends shivers down your spine and tingling in the surrounding skin. Even when he realizes what he's doing and stops, the tingling remains. It was soothing, the repeated motions. You wish he didn't stop but you're not about to ask him to continue. "Yeah, we need a medic down here. [Y/N] is injured." 

"I'm fine!" You yell, hoping whoever he is calling--you assume Steve or Tony... maybe Banner--will hear and not sent in the cavalry for a big paper cut. Bucky shoots you a look that can only mean  _shut the hell up_ and you groan in response, leaning your head back to meet the wall as he talks to whoever is on the phone about your field medicine. You'd think he'd be more amused by your quick thinking but apparently with the serum seemingly secured and the mission coming to the close his joking demeanor has hibernated to make room for Business Bucky. 

Your eyelids are heavy, and you give into their plea so long as you are focusing on Bucky's phone call so you won't fall asleep. 

As hard as you try, your body betrays you. You've never used your powers for so much and apparently, exhaustion is a side effect that you never really considered with the small scale things you've done in the past. Probably a good thing to know for the future. You think about bringing it up to Steve in your next training. Or to Tony and Bruce, they seem interested in learning what your powers are and how they work. You're sure Tony would come up with a way to regulate your exhaustion or test the limits at least. 

Your name is faraway but recognizable as Bucky's deep, calming voice. Maybe listening to him speak wasn't the greatest plan for staying awake. His even tone is practically a lullaby. 

The part of your brain that is meant to react to such stimuli as someone saying your name seems to be disconnected with the rest of it. You drift off, the noise of Bucky speaking to you and approaching footsteps cutting out into the blackness of very, very deep sleep. 

 


	8. The Ride Home

**Bucky's POV**

He's seen destruction, but the sight of waking up to a demolished room still takes his breath away. The lab, once glistening with new tech and updated equipment is now a pile of rubble and dust. He glances at her, a faraway look in her eyes and a blank expression. 

"What happened?" he asks as she presses her back against the wall next to him and slides down. Her legs graze his and he can feel her body heat radiating off her even from the separation between them. She doesn't reply at first, just stares straight until slowly her actions seem to catch up with his question. She's moving painfully slow, and he takes this time to look her up and down, making sure she's not hurt and in sho--

Her tank top is black, drenched in sweat, but just around her waist, there is a thin tear. A small scrap of crimson color peaks through the crevice. He's immediately shifting to a better position to examine the wound. "You're hit? Holy shit, what the--"

"I couldn't stop th' machine." She slurs. He notes the heaviness in her eyelids. His heart rate immediately spikes as panic courses through him. Bucky is usually a level-headed guy in high-stress situations... Steve may beg to differ but situations involving him are not the norm. Nonetheless, every hair on his body is standing on end, a buzzing through his fingers and his heartbeat in his ears. _That damn sedative must have really fucked me_ up. She coughs roughly, her throat sounding dry. "Bad guys are getting smarter, no big red buttons. As soon as there was a power release, I used my powers to.. .well, you know. Make it go away. Everything kind of got crazy during that. You flew across the room." She laughs a little at the end, a weak smile twitching at her lips. 

Bucky shakes his head, his eyes darting down to her torso where his flesh fingers have found something very hard in the place where her waist should be. He slowly peels back the thin material of her black tank top, expecting to find a large piece of shrapnel... or worse. 

The metal-like substance-- he's not really completely sure what her powers are or what to make of the nature of this material--is wrapped around her midsection securely, pressing into her skin. Applying pressure he realizes, noticing thin trails of blood coming from the edges of the makeshift bandage. 

"You're kidding me." he looks back up at her. He can barely make out the color of her irises beneath her drooping lashes... and god, is she deathly pale. He needs to get her out of here. Even looking like hell she manages to lift her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. He rolls his eyes, taking out his phone and punching in Steve's number. He keeps his hand lightly against the bandage, a little skeptical of its integrity. His fingers run over the smooth, cool material. It's like polished metal, but light and soft in a weird way. He makes a mental note to ask her about it later. 

The ringer continues and he notices her staring at his fingers lightly circling the material. He stops immediately, hoping he wasn't applying too much pressure and hurting her, though she seems calmer than before, not hurt. 

Steve's voice rings out in his ear, asking if everything is okay. He sounds as panicked as Bucky feels. "Yeah, we need a medic down here. [Y/N] is injured." 

"I'm fine!" she yells, her voice now graduated from sleepy to drunkenly slurred.

"She's not fine, we need immediate extraction. Have a med team ready."

_"Buck, just stay calm, they're already on the way."_

"I am calm!" he says uncalmly, suppressing his urge to yell. "Just hurry, okay? I don't really want to be here anymore either." 

_"Not enjoying Brazil?"_

"I was enjoying Brazil, but the whole mad scientist thing has ruined the vibe." He glances down at her again. Her eyes are closed but her chest is rising and falling steadily. He calls out her name once. She doesn't react. He says it again, a little louder. He reaches up pressing two fingers to her pulse-point on her neck. "She's unconscious, Steve."

_"What the hell happened down there?"_

Bucky shakes his head, remembering the commotion when they stormed the room, and then everything faded to blackness. The look on her face, the fear in her eyes when he could feel himself flailing... he tried to fight it, he really did. 

"I'll tell you later." the sound of footsteps brings Bucky's gaze up to a team of extraction agents quickly approaching with drawn weapons. "Got to go, we're coming home." 

* * *

 

 

They lead Bucky outside where a quinjet is parked on the front lawn of the laboratory. Standing at the end of the walkway is Natasha, arms crossed and gaze fixed on him. 

"Do you want a stretcher?" she asks glancing down to the unconscious woman cradled in his arms. He shakes his head, pushing past her into the jet to go put her down somewhere safe. The light footsteps of Nat's boots behind him let him know she's close behind. He lays her down on a secured cot and straps her in. The color is returning to her cheeks slowly but surely. He remembers her mentioning something about healing quick, and he hopes that is the case. Tucking a blanket around her body he picks himself up from his kneeling position and walks to the front of the quinjet, grabbing a bottle of water from the cupholder and nearly collapsing down into the co-pilot chair. 

Nat saunters in after him, taking her seat at the pilot's chair. He hears her mouth open to speak and he shakes his head. 

"Later." he interrupts her and she stops. 

"You didn't even know what I was going to say."

"I don't care." 

"Someone's grumpy." 

"It's been a long day, Natasha." 

She presses her lips together, nodding. 

"Fair enough." she presses the ignition and the jet springs to life, slowly hovering into the air and shooting off into the sky. 

It feels like a weight is lifted off his shoulders immediately. Going home. If [y/n] weren't unconscious in the back he would feel a whole lot better. Maybe even indulge in banter with Nat or call Steve on the holophone to keep them company on the ride back. Her face before he blacked out just keeps replaying in his mind like a bad dream. He knows that feeling, the horror of realizing its all down to you. It is not at all what Bucky expected to have to put her through on her first goddamn mission. This was supposed to be a smooth operation. They half expected them to find nothing and then come back after a month. Instead, this shitshow went down and now she's injured, Bucky's pride has taken a hit, and this overwhelming sense of guilt has fallen over him.

"This was only supposed to be an intel mission," he says after an hour or so of being in the air. Up to this point, nothing has been said between Bucky and Nat. Nat put on some music at a low volume about fifteen minutes into the heavy silence, and they have been sitting uncomfortably in limbo ever since. 

"You know damn well sometimes shit happens." 

"Shit wasn't supposed to happen, Nat! We sat through the same meeting where we laid out the best way to introduce her to the team and a high-stress mission with multiple casualties was like step twelve."

Natasha inhales sharply, jabbing a button on the dash and turning to face Bucky, arms crossed tightly over her puffed out chest and eyebrows knit together. Bucky recoils slightly, the wrath of Nat's intense green eyes boring into him. 

"I am well aware--  _everyone_ is well aware that this was not the plan. But there is nothing we can do to fix it now, so getting all protective and yelling at me--"

"I'm not being protective I'm calling out that this was mishandled and--"

"You're acting like someone pushed her down on the playground and you're barraging the teacher for not stopping it when it was Gina's asshole kid that's the bully. She's an adult, and after hearing about today, I think she's proved herself more than capable to handle herself."

"That's not-- no, I'm not--" Bucky groans, running his hand into his hair and tugging at the roots. Nat shakes her head and then glances back where she lays still fast asleep on the cot. 

"She will be  _fine_. You obviously care about her so--"

"Woah, nothing happened between us." 

Nat scoffs, a smirk appearing in place of her scowl. "I was not insinuating that anything happened, but now I'm suspicious. Did something happen, Bucky?" 

"Nothing happened... I am not talking about this." The night in the museum flashes through his memory. Her body against his. The feeling of her lips lightly brushing against his. The weird feeling he had the rest of the night... 

"You brought it up!" 

"I brought nothing up." Bucky crosses his arms, glancing at a few buttons on the dashboard. _The passenger eject button is looking quite enticing right about now._

Nat chuckles, unbuckling and standing from the chair. "I'm gonna go stretch and check on her while you get your face back to a less red color." He reaches up to touch his burning cheeks as she turns on her heels and goes to the back of the jet. Slouching in his chair, Bucky runs the conversation over in his head a few times, cursing at how he could have better worded, well, basically  _everything_ to not find himself red-faced and defeated with two hours left in the flight. 

Yes... he cares about her. Not like  _that_ though. Like a teammate. Co-worker. A friend that he feels comfortable with. The kiss was a ruse to get out of a bad situation. Steve told him about when him and Nat pulled the same stunt when running from the HYDRA infested SHIELD. It means nothing... a means to an end. 

He peers around the chair to see Nat, checking her wounds, fingers tracing her unconventional field medicine. 

Just a means to an end. 

 


	9. The Lost Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on update times: I am not abandoning this story, but I did just start a summer class so time has gotten away from me and I've been lacking inspiration lately. I'm trying my best to sit down and write whenever I get a stroke of motivation, so updates may be less consistent, but I promise I WILL finish this story!

It smells like... plums?

Your eyes flutter open to explore the sweet smell that is filling the room. You find yourself in what looks to be the med bay... of the Avenger's compound?

You sit up quickly with a start, breathing heavily in panic. A hand rests on your shoulder from behind and you twist in place to find yourself face to face with Bucky, half-eaten plum in hand and concern etched across his face. 

"You're okay, you're at--"

"The Compound. We--we were just in Brazil, how did we get back here?" 

"That was almost 36 hours ago."

"WHAT?!" you yell, running your hands through your hair-- your very greasy hair, yikes. You look down at yourself to find a loose white t-shirt and some of your pajama pants on your body. You try to push the thought out of your mind about who changed your clothes. Remembering your injury you lift up the bottom of your shirt just enough to take a look at the fresh dressings. You really slept through all of this? 

"Do you remember?" he asks you. You raise an eyebrow at the vagueness of his question. 

"Remember what? The lab?" 

"Yes. What you did." 

You flash back to the bright green light. The pain coursing through your body. Bucky laying motionless on the ground. The entire room nearly tearing itself apart. Falling to the ground. Bucky's hands on your side. You don't remember falling asleep, but you've also never used your powers to such a degree. Usually, it tires you out to use them a little, so it makes sense you would be exhausted. You didn't expect to sleep for 36 hours exhausted... maybe you should learn your limits.

"I do." you nod, laying back on the pillow as Bucky rounds the bed so you can see him without craning your neck. He was cleanshaven the other day when going to the lab, but now he has the look of two days of beard growth on his face. You examine the dark circles under his eyes and the worry lines that seem more prominent than usual. He's changed out of his tactical gear, but the wrinkled shirt and sweatpants don't seem promising that he has really gotten to shower since getting off the plane. 

"I'm sorry," he says softly, biting his lip. "I... I left you alone." 

"No you didn't, you were shot with a powerful sedative. You couldn't have done anything more than you did, Bucky." 

He looks down at his hands, palming the plum between them. "I still feel bad. I should have seen his weapon. I could have deflected it or paid better attention--"

"Bucky, I'm fine. You are too. We finished the mission, got the bad guys. That's what matters." 

He grimaces, taking another bite of the fruit. You look him up and down again. "Have you been waiting for me to wake up?" 

He glances down at his own appearance before shyly meeting your eyes again. "I, uh, didn't want you to wake up alone." 

You smile, reaching over and pressing your hand to his metal wrist. "Thank you. For being here, and dealing with me when I was in a mini coma." 

"No snarky remark about how I smell or need to iron my t-shirt?" 

You chuckle. "I probably look shittier than you do, that would be hypocritical. Plus, I gotta swallow my pride every once in a while... But while you mention it, yeah you should probably go shower and I should do the same. I think I can smell myself."

He laughs at this, standing up and you throw the covers over to the side to slip out from the bed. Bucky is looking at you as you stand, but you watch as his gaze shifts to behind you, a frown forming on his face. You turn, only to find Steve and Sam watching you with sly smiles on their faces. This should be interesting. 

"Sleeping Beauty, welcome back!" Sam greets you when you leave the med bay, Bucky right behind you. "I hear you're a badass and a half in the field." 

"Yeah remember that whenever you wanna talk a big game," you joke, jabbing him in the ribs. He grins, poking you back and then turning his attention to Bucky.

"Big man Barnes," he slips past you and throws an arm around Bucky's shoulder loosely as Cap pats him on the back and hurries to catch up to you, already walking to your room. You can hear Sam say something along the lines of "you gotta tell me about the women, I hear Brazilian women are a gift from God..." as they turn around the corner towards Bucky's room. 

"One day, I'm going to see Sam flying across the room, but it's not going to be his wings that are making him fly." 

"I'm surprised Bucky hasn't thrown him off the balcony yet." 

"Well, I guess that did happen once..." Steve chuckles. "Misunderstanding." 

"Uh, uh, remind me never to piss any of you off." 

"So you guys are, uh, friends now?" Steve not-so-slyly changes the subject, a boyish grin on his face. You pretend to not know what he's definitely insinuating. 

"Bucky and me?" He nods. "We bonded, yeah." 

"Partner missions tend to do that. You do any undercover work?" 

"We were siblings when we went into town," you reply, leaving out the part where you and Bucky acted like a little more than siblings... something that still has not processed yet, along with the dancing at the club and you basically inviting him into bed with you, but that is something you can ruminate on later and not mention to anyone else. 

"Siblings, huh? Interesting." 

"Steve, are you looking for something?" you give him a side eye as you reach your bedroom door. Steve runs a hand through his hair innocently. Boy, does he have that act down. 

"Just curious. Bucky just seems to have warmed up to you quicker than he usually does with new people, which is great. He could use more people he can trust." 

"Well, uh, good. We worked well together. We had a good time when we weren't getting threatened to disappear from existence." Oh yeah, that. Another thing you have to process. 

Steve's eyebrows knit together. "You alright?" 

"Yeah, yeah, I just... yeah I just have to process this entire thing. Decompress after almost dying. I'm good though, nothing a hot shower and a good nights rest won't fix." 

"36 hours wasn't enough rest?"

"Oh please, that was just a nap." 

"Okay, [y/n], just holler if you need anything. I'll see you later." 

You say goodnight and then slip into your room, closing your eyes and releasing a deep breath as soon as you hear his footsteps disappear down the hall. Despite being unconscious for 36 hours, you're drained. Maybe it was all the activity right when you woke up, but you really just want to lay in bed and sleep away all the shit buzzing around in your head. But first: a long shower.

The water is hot, stinging the sensitive skin of the cut on your side, but it eventually goes numb as you stand motionless under the water. The pitter-patter of the water on your neck and back is therapeutic, making your entire mind feel just as numb. 

You stand there for what seems like hours, just letting the water drench you to the bone. You're practically shaking, fingers shriveled up when you finally decide you should wash up and get out. You finally emerge from the steamy shower to find the entire bathroom encompassed in thick steam. Stark is going to kill you for his hot water bill... 

You slip on a sweatshirt and a pair of flannel pajamas, brush through your hair and brush your teeth. You feel much better physically, but mentally you know you're about to crash. When you walk back into your bedroom to find Bucky Barnes sitting on your bed, looking at a picture that usually sits on the nightstand, you nearly burst into tears right there.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, and he looks up at you, looking just as panicked as you are. 

"I'm uh," he sets the picture back down, standing from your bed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come, I can talk to you in the morning or--"

"Bucky, you're here already, what is it?" 

He lets out a breath, his jaw set and eyes avoiding yours. "You just... are you okay?" 

You bite down on your lip, inside of you screaming  _No! No! Not at all!_ But that isn't what you reply with. 

"I'm processing...but I'm okay."

"Okay, I'll leave then, I just wanted to make sure." He starts toward the door but then stops. You really want him to leave before you start crying and have to explain to him why you lied about being okay. "You know, if you ever aren't okay, I'm told I'm a pretty good listener." 

You smile weakly, hoping he can't seem the glimmers of tears forming in your eyes. He gives you one last awkward smile before shutting the door behind him. 

And then you break apart. 

There wasn't this much  _emotion_ involved when you were on the run. On your own. Lives weren't at stake. You used your powers to help steal your next meal not save an entire country. 

You could have  _died_ today... well, two days ago now. You could have failed and you and Bucky would be erased from existence like the other people. And what about them? This wasn't some alien invasion where you could get those people back. They're permanently gone. Just like you could have been. There have been times in your life that you have wished yourself dead. You thought you could stare death in the face and laugh, but as it turns out when you look at death you grasp your life tighter. You should be thrilled to value your humanity so much. Why does it feel so shitty?

You collapse onto your bed, taking your hair in your fists. Tears are streaming down your face as you curl up into a ball and let your emotions outpour. 

* * *

 

_Dark brown eyes appear and then disappear. You whip around, eyeing the flickering light that is making the small, moist room flash from pitch black darkness to aching bright._

_"You don't have to do this," she says, her voice raspy, barely a whisper. Between the flashes, your gaze follows a thin line of blood etching its way down her jawline and dripping delicately off her chin._

_"You know I do,"_

_It takes a squeeze of your fist, and she collapses down onto the ground. You step around her, crouching down so you can see her face. Her eyes are still open, staring back at you blankly. You stagger back in surprise, remorse, and guilt washing through you as her lifeless form takes hold in your brain._

_Footsteps, heavy and sloshing against the muddy ground, approach quickly. You turn, your stomach dropping to your feet. You feel like you're going to vomit. You scurry back into the corner of the room, pressing your back against the wall and resting your hands over your stomach._

_The door opens with a low creak._

* * *

You wake up midair. 

And then you're slamming into the ground flat on your back. You groan, rolling onto your side and picking up your sweaty body off the ground. It's been a while since you've fallen out of bed mid-nightmare. It's definitely not appreciated. 

The clock on your nightstand reads 8:05 pm. Your sleep schedule is majorly screwed. Not wanting to go back to sleep anymore you slip on a pair of socks and walk out of your room towards the kitchen to make some tea. The compound is quieter than you would expect on a Saturday night. Maybe everyone had a mission, or maybe they went out tonight. Part of you was hoping something was going on that could take your mind off the horrible things haunting your subconscious. Another part of you is relieved to have some peace and quiet. 

You turn on the kettle and prep your mug with a bag of passionflower tea. While you wait, you wander around the kitchen a little bit, snooping through the other Avenger's snack cabinets. You must admit, you're a little curious what the world's mightiest heroes like to munch on. 

Bruce's is pretty standard. A few bags of chips, crackers, peanut butter, sesame sticks. Natasha has a bunch of random snacks with various languages on them. You remember Steve saying something about how she loves weird international snacks. You investigate up a bag of what seems to be Lamb and Mint flavored chips and crinkle your nose at the idea of that flavor. Steve is definitely the health nut of the bunch with lots of protein bars and various nuts and organic snacks. Sam's cabinet is similar to Steve's but he has three packets of double stuff Oreos hidden behind the tubs of protein powder. 

You get to Bucky's and feel giddier than you did on the other's to look through it. You shake it off, thinking maybe it's because you know he's in the compound somewhere and he would most definitely give you trouble for looking through his snacks if he caught you right now. You open it up anyways, surprised to find that he has the most snacks of all. 

You can't recall ever seeing Bucky walking around munching on Cheez-it's, or really  _anything_ for that matter. It's fairly common to see Tony eating something at virtually any moment, but as you gaze with wide eyes at the large assortment of salty, sweet, and savory options in Bucky's cabinet, you realize you never see him eating besides at meals. Every container looks to be drawn from. Slim Jims, Goldfish, dried fruit, trail mix, chocolate bars, popcorn, Cliff Bars, chocolate almonds, peanut brittle... it's like an aisle at the gas station convenience store. You shake your head in disbelief, shut the cabinet, and then open it slightly to peer in once more, just in case you were hallucinating everything. Bucky never ceases to surprise you. 

The water kettle beeps to indicate it's been heated and you pour it into your mug. The scent of the tea immediately drifts up to your nose and fills your senses with its pleasant aroma. Hugging the mug close to your body, you begin walking back towards the rooms, but part of you isn't really ready to go back into your room that has now been tainted by the ruminations of your past. Instead, you begin to wander the halls, curious if you will run into anyone. 

You pass Steve and Sam's rooms, sensing no movement on the other side. You briefly knock on Nat's door but get no reply. You remember hearing something about Wanda being out with Vision for the next few weeks so you don't bother trying their residence, and you assume Banner is somewhere in the lab or something with Tony, per their usual Saturday night activities unless Tony has decided to attend a party. 

While passing by a decorative table and mirror you glance at your reflection and immediately stop for a double take. Holy shit you look awful. 

Your eyes are puffy and quite red from falling asleep crying. Your face is bloated and flushed, your hair sticking out in awkward directions from sleeping on it while it dried. Lovely. Maybe it's time to return to your bedroom before you scare one of your housemates by your appearance. You turn to head towards your room but stop in front of the last door. 

Bucky's room. 

As if he knew you were there, the door suddenly opens and a very drowsy Bucky stands at the door, his eyes slightly widening when he takes in your frazzled appearance, but he doesn't seem overly surprised to see you standing at his door. It dawns on you that he has enhanced hearing, and could probably hear you walking around the halls this entire time. 

You both stand there in silence. Staring at each other. His lips part, and then close again. 

You don't know why you did it. There was nothing in your brain telling you to set your coffee down on the side table and walk right up to him. You weren't thinking about slipping your arms under his and pressing yourself into his torso. You only panicked a little bit when you felt his body stiffen at your embrace, but then he relaxed, and boy, did your body sing with glee when his arms wrapped around you, holding you flush against him. 

This... this is what you really needed. A warm hug. 

You stand like this for a long minute. You are breathing in the smell of pine trees and cinnamon radiating off what seems to be his freshly showered body. He smells like Christmas and you love it. 

When you pull away, he has a subtle smile on his stubbled face. The smile quickly turns to concern. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

You bite the inside of your lip. 

"Maybe." 

He steps aside, making room for you to enter his room. You pick up your tea and walk right in, ignoring the rapidly beating drum bouncing against your chest. 

 

His room is more modern than you would have expected a nearly 100-year-old man to have. The walls are a charcoal color with an accent wall of a worn dark brown wood. The bed is low to the ground, with a short gray fabric headboard, white sheets, and a soft gray-blue textured comforter. Contrary to the drowsiness you thought you detected earlier, the bed looks perfectly made and not slept in. The floor matched the accent wall but with more finished wood. The entire room is cozy yet sleek. You turn to examine a black bookshelf in the corner that is filled with black leather bound books. You recognize them to be very similar to the one he often carries around and writes in on a daily basis. 

"This is really nice," you say, turning your attention to a bunch of drawings and pictures taped to the wall above a very clean and organized desk. One is a picture of him and Steve standing in front of one of the quin jets. Steve's arm is draped across Bucky's shoulder and they both are smiling widely. Below is a candid picture of Steve, Sam, Bucky, and Natasha lounging on the living room couch. Bucky is sitting in the corner seat of the sectional with Steve opposite to him, Natasha laying with her head resting against Steve's lower thigh and feet just barely making it to Bucky's lap. Sam is laying on his back on the ottoman, feet crossed over Bucky's ankles and mouth open with laughter as it looks like Nat is mid-eye-roll, Steve is suppressing a laugh and Bucky has an amused smirk on his face. 

You shift to a drawing on the wall of a row of urban homes. It's a pencil sketch, but beautifully shaded and pretty realistic. You feel Bucky's presence come up behind you.

"Steve drew that. It's my old home in Brooklyn." 

"It's cute," you say, smiling back at him. 

"A young couple lives in it now," he says wistfully. "They practically gutted the place. It's called "flipping it," I think." 

"I'm sorry," 

"It is what it is." 

You turn around to face him fully. He looks much better after his shower. Refreshed, less greasy. He traded his wrinkled sweats for a long sleeve t-shirt and flannel pajama pants. He cocks his head his flesh hand reaching out to softly brush a strand of your hair out of your face. Your knees nearly buckle at his soft touch. Boy, are you touch starved.

"What's wrong?" 

You let out a deep breath, peering up at him through your eyelashes. He presses his lips together and reaches down to grab your hand softly. Bucky leads you over to his bed and you sit down on the end while he settles facing you.

You sit there in silence for a long time. You mess with the cuticles on your fingers while he waits patiently for you to speak. It's not pressuring you, it's just comfortable and welcoming. The room is yours if you want it, and for once you feel comfortable enough to take it. 

"I have, uh... I'm having trouble processing, well, everything. I mean, a device that made people cease to exist? It's crazy to think that could be a real thing a real human made," 

"This world is overwhelming when you know all that goes on in it,"

"Exactly. I just... I can't help but see myself in that damn machine." 

"Well, you haven't made people cease to exist out of malicious intent," 

"Haven't I? Bucky, there are things about me that are not in my personnel file. Things that I am not proud of. I wake up... I wake up every day wishing that I have never used my powers to take a life." 

He sighs. You search his face for disgust. Hatred. The usual emotions that cross people's minds when they find out what you are and what you've done. Surprisingly, his features are soft and... understanding. 

"What do you think about when you go to bed?" he asks softly. You stare into his crisp blue eyes. 

"I remember every single person I've ever killed." 

He nods. 

"What do you see?" 

"The eyes." 

"Dead or alive?" 

"Alive. Their last seconds." 

He shakes his head. 

"You looked into their eyes when you did it?" 

You drop your head, staring at your lap. "I didn't want to forget," you reply softly. "I deserve to be haunted by this. It makes me feel human." 

His finger lightly taps your chin, lifting your head to look at him. His expression is serious, his jaw set. 

"You are a good person. You were forced to do those things. It's not your fault." 

There's a lightness in your chest. No one has ever looked you in the eyes and reassured you like this. Tears well up in your eyes and you wipe them on the back of your hand. 

"What do you see?" you ask, and he presses his lips together, recoiling his hand slowly. 

"Sometimes I see their face. Usually dead. Most times I just think about their names." 

"Do you consider yourself a hero?" 

He pauses at this question, running a hand through his hair. 

"To be honest, I don't really know." 

"Yeah... me too." 

"I know I'm doing the right thing. Being here." 

"I don't feel like an Avenger though," you sigh. "I feel like... a CI or something." 

Bucky smiles. "The life of a former criminal turned crime fighter. Believe me, I can relate." 

"The whole team thing is jarring too. Relying on others is not really my forte." 

"It's a big shift, but if I can do it, I have full confidence you will adjust to it eventually. It feels good to have people, ya know?" 

You return his soft smile. "That is true. I forgot how much I needed real human contact. Sorry, by the way, for just going in for the hug." 

"You seemed like you needed one," 

"I did. I won't do it ag--"

"No, please. I'm happy to give and receive a hug. I have seventy years of hugs to catch up on." 

You chuckle softly, surprised at his playfulness. How he's listening and admitting his desire for touch. Those things that were weighing down on you earlier-- the guilt, the insecurities-- seem to have subsided for now. They're replaced by some very intrusive thoughts of his arms around you once again peppered with a few urges to press your lips to him and re-experience that kiss you shared in the museum sans the potential to be killed by some sick men. 

You hope his enhanced hearing can't hear your fluttering heartbeat. The kiss. These random and uninvited attractions that keep plaguing your mind when you really do not want them to show up. You have a regular schoolyard crush on this man. The symptoms are all there, and it terrifies you. You aren't oblivious enough to not realize that you have it bad for Bucky Barnes, but you are also far too scared to reveal your feelings. Especially so soon after this mission. What if it's just platonic feelings you are amplifying since you spent so much time together? You work together, and it would be irresponsible to make things awkward between you two by telling him he is the star of your daydreams. It would ruin your good dynamic, especially if he didn't reciprocate the feelings.

For now, you will settle for the platonic hugs and the occasional friendly touch. You will ignore the feeling he leaves on your skin and how it runs deep into your bones. You are friends. Fast friends considering the short time you've known one another, but friends nonetheless. 

"I am happy to help you catch up on that." you smile. 

The analog clock on his nightstand counts the seconds that pass between you. His eyes divert from yours, breaking the thick tension between you.

He coughs into his hand, readjusting his position so his back is against the headboard and one leg tucked underneath him. "Can I ask you a question?" He asks. 

"Shoot." 

"That, uh, picture. On your nightstand. Your family?"

You can see the image in your head. Your entire family standing in front of the house from shortly after you moved there. You're young, propped up on your father's shoulders, a toothy grin spread across your face. Your mom is standing on a step higher than your father so they're about the same height. Your brothers are perched elsewhere on the stairs. One stands facing the side, his hand wrapped around your dangling ankle like he's holding your mother's hand. Your other brother is sitting on the railing. The thing you love so much about the picture is that despite your younger self with a huge grin, looking directly into the camera, the rest of your family is mid-chaos. Your mother's head is turned to the side, pointer finger jabbed in the direction of your brother on the railing. Probably telling him to get down and listen. Your father is looking down at your mother, mouth open with some supporting command while his other hand is in mid swat of your brother's hand to release your foot.

This picture brings you home. You can hear their voices, smell the rosemary and basil plants that were planted at the foot of the front stairs. The creak of the wooden porch. Your father's calloused fingers and your mother's favorite perfume. The sound of your eldest brother's laugh and the feeling of your other brother's fingers tickling your stomach when you're grumpy. It's your favorite picture in the whole entire world. Your most prized possession.

"Yes. When we first moved."

You mirror the smile that appears on his lips despite how choked up you get when thinking about your family.

"I was a momma's boy," he chuckles.

"Daddy's girl. I got away with anything and everything."

You look up at Bucky to see him gazing someplace faraway, a wistful smile on his face.

"I think about my momma every day."

You nod, your mom and dad's faces flashing through your memory.

"I do too."


	10. The Misunderstanding

**Bucky's POV**

An uneventful night turned into a long conversation with an unexpected accomplice. There were moments while on the mission where he had gotten to talk to her about her past, her family, her superhero origin story, but this was different. Without the stress of the mission looming over the two, there was certain ease that fell into everything. She laid on her back the end of Bucky's bed, head cradled by her hand, turning every so often to make eye contact with him while he spoke. This position, of course, led to droopy eyes and increased yawns. In the middle of a story about a rather funny mission Bucky, Nat, and Sam embarked on that went horribly, Bucky looked down to see her eyes closed, her body relaxed, and soft even breaths rising from her chest. 

Now, he had two options.

He could pick her up and carry her back to her room. This ran the risk of running into someone in the hall. Carrying a sleeping woman definitely would bring about some questions. 

Option two is to let her sleep here. She doesn't seem like she would be moving from the spot at the end of the bed so he could throw a blanket over her still have room to sleep in his own bed. He does worry about his nightmares, as they often result in violent awakenings and the last thing he wants to do is hurt her in his sleep. 

Of course, there is a third option of just waking her up so she can go to bed, but Bucky already decided against that one. On the mission, she demonstrated her sleepless habits, and he knows the worst thing to do is to interrupt an insomniac when they are actually getting rest. 

The pit of Bucky's stomach turned with anxiety as his brain ran through all the possible outcomes of both options. What if Steve or Sam come to his door and find her there? There will be questions that he is  _not_ prepared to deal with... which is evident from his conversation with Natasha. Is it more likely that running into one of them in the hallway and getting pegged with Sleeping Beauty jokes for the next six weeks? 

He glances at the clock. It's nearly 3 am and he himself is growing drowsy. He finds it incredibly ironic that he can make so many tactical decisions in a split second, but what to do with the woman curled up at the foot of his bed is somehow the most difficult brain-teaser he's dealt with in a while. 

Bucky can already hear Steve's annoying voice in his head. 

_"It means something when a woman changes you without trying to change you."_

" _You got that look in your eye, Buck. The 'I met a girl' twinkle._ "

Shut the hell up, mind Steve. 

Bucky slowly stands and grabs a warm blanket from a shelf and one of the extra pillows from his bed. He carefully covers her with the blanket and slides his hands to the side of her head to lift and slide the pillow underneath. Her cheek presses into his palm, like a warm caress. She stirs slightly, leaning into his touch and taking and releasing a deep breath. Bucky is frozen in place just watching as she settles down again, now curling into the blanket and shifting to her side as he slides his hand out from beneath her. 

His heart is pounding against his chest. He releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding and settles back into bed. 

It's a king-size bed, so he can adequately stretch out on the opposite side without getting anywhere near touching her with his feet. Yet, when he settles under the covers he curls into himself, making his body more compact than he usually does. HE glances over her sleeping figure one more time before turning off the lights. Sleep comes quickly as he is sucked into the still darkness with her even breaths lulling him into unconsciousness. 

* * *

Bucky can't remember the last dreamless night he had. Even his brief naps bring demons sometimes, so to awake to pounding on his door and not to the sound of his own yelling was more confusing than the knocking. He jumps out of bed, striding over to the door and opening it quickly to find a flustered Steve at his door. 

"Bucky! [Y/N] didn't come to her debrief and she's not in her room. Do you know where she could have gone?" In the distance, Bucky can hear a group of others all talking frantically in the main room. Talking about timestamps... going through the cameras.

 _Oh shit_. In an unforeseen alternate outcome, it seems another con of letting her stay in his room was that it has put the entire team on alert and now telling them that she slept over--no matter how innocent the situation was--is going to be ten times worse of a situation than a few jokes here and there. 

He turns, looking to the end of his bed where she is sitting up. She rubs her eyes, blinking a few times at the stream of light from the hallway. 

"Bucky?" Steve leans forward to peer into his room, his eyes becoming wide when he sees her groggy figure wrapped in a blanket. "Oh, I see." 

"It's not what it looks like," Bucky says in a low voice. 

He looks Bucky in the eyes for a few seconds before nodding. "We'll... talk about this later," he raises his hands up so his palms face Bucky. "You're going to have to explain it to everyone though." 

"Aw come on Steve, plea--" He backs out and shuts the door, leaving before Bucky can finish his plea for Steve to cover him. "He owes me, too," he grumbles, turning back around to face the pretty confused woman sitting frozen on his bed.

"Shit," she says, standing, hugging the blanket Bucky placed over her the night before tight around her. "I forgot I had that. I should have gone back to my room." 

"I should have woken you up, it's my bad, rea--"

"No, I'm an adult, Buck. I'll go tell them it was on me." She stops for a moment to take a deep breath, locking eyes with Bucky. "If I tell them I was off in a random room to clear my head and lost track of time, what would be a room I could refer to?" 

It's a simple enough question. Set the story straight. Yet the way she was looking at him made a deep pit in Bucky's stomach. He knows this isn't some kind of manipulative test. He doesn't think she's capable of playing mind games like that. Yet the question still feels loaded, like whatever he answers is going to be a wrong answer no matter what. 

He looks down at his feet. "The old press room. Tony upgraded it pretty quickly and moved it closer to the parking lot. No one remembers to look there." 

She cocks her head to the side, her lips parting but she closes them. Probably a smart decision as to not open up the whole can of worms of asking about Bucky's methods of coping. 

She unwraps herself from the blanket and hands it back to him. With a small, forced, smile she leaves the room. He can hear her greeting the others moments later. 

Pulling the blanket into his chest he inhales deeply. When working with her he was never really aware of her scent but now it's surrounding him. He resists the urge to bury his face in it, taking in the sweet smell of her shampoo that has bled into the material. Bucky always found some solace in the calming aroma that women usually smell like, but never has it been quite as intoxicating. 

His cheeks now blazing despite there being no one there to monitor his rather strange behavior, he throws the blanket back onto his bed, retiring to his bathroom to take a shower and try and prepare himself for the interrogation he is about to receive from Steve. 

* * *

**Reader's POV**

The walk from Bucky's room to the living room where you can hear all the commotion was as close to what you would expect a walk of shame to feel like. You have nothing to be ashamed of, though. You were talking to Bucky, a teammate, and friend of yours, and ended up falling asleep. He didn't seem bothered, even gave you a blanket to keep you warm through the night. Of course, with so many people under one roof, the Avengers sometimes can air on the side of high school dramatics, and this moment was already becoming one of those. 

You emerge in the living room to see everyone seated on the couch talking to one another. As soon as you enter, the entire room goes dead silent, making the moment one hundred times more intimidating than you ever could have imagined. Natasha, Tony, Banner, Sam, and Steve all stare at your awkward stance in the doorway. You notice Steve's eyes widen, and glance over the faces of the others. 

"Where were you?" Tony starts, standing and crossing his arms. He doesn't seem angry, but maybe a little miffed. 

"I, uh, woke up. Couldn't fall--"

"She was with me." you are interrupted. Whirling around you find Bucky leaning against the wall, eyes trained on you. "A lot happened on our mission. I won't speak for 'er but maybe the content was a bit close to home. We were talking about it, and it got late. She fell asleep, and I didn't want to wake her up. Didn't know she had a meeting."

You turn back to look at the others, who either seem content with the answer (Banner, Tony, Steve) or are staring down Bucky with a mix of disbelief and surprise (Natasha and Sam). 

"Lord, I run a goddamn summer camp. Just.... remember to set a damn alarm next time or let Friday know so I don't send a premature Twitter DM to the National Guard." Tony and Banner leave, already shifting their conversation to whatever they were working on before this happened. Steve also stands, stopping to squeeze your shoulder. 

"We'll debrief tomorrow. Good luck," 

"Good luck?" 

He glances back at Sam and Nat who have already pressed to the center of the couch to whisper. "You'll need it." 

Patting your back he exits the living room. When you turn to look for Bucky you find that he's already long gone, leaving you with two highly excitable operatives. They look up at you and Natasha points in your direction and then down to the couch. You roll your eyes, dragging your feet as you approach. 

"What the hell?" she says as soon as you sit down next to Sam. 

"Whatever you're thinking happened, you're wrong."

"You wanna know what I've never seen?" Sam asks, pointing to where Bucky was standing "Barnes say more than a sentence and a half without being prompted. I have known that grumpy old man for quite some time now, and I have come to expect a nearly 100% success rate of me doing some dumb shit and Barnes acting like he doesn't know my ass in return. Tell me, Nat, have you ever seen him take the fall for anyone?" 

"Maybe Steve, but one of us?" she shakes her head. 

"Barnes is a good guy, but he's a lone wolf." Sam continues. "His business is his business for the most part, no matter how much I poke him with a stick. I don't know what you did, but if you found a way to make the Grinch's heart grow ten times larger, I am all ears." 

"You guys are reading way too much into this," you shake your head, standing up.

"We're reading just enough into this," Sam jabs a finger at you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

You roll your eyes. "I'm sure there are more interesting conspiracy theories for the two of you to dream up," 

Nat rolls down her bottom lip and Sam shakes his head. "Nope. Not really." She says, raising her shoulders in an overdramatic shrug. 

"Whatever. I'm going to the gym, I'll leave you to your scheming." 

You exit the room, happy to be away from Nat and Sam's pining after something that isn't there. You're drawn to Bucky, but that has got to be the result of working with him the closest. You almost died together so the obvious implication would be that you have a connection. Not necessarily a  _romantic_ connection. At least not one that goes both ways. 

You change into workout gear and head down to the gym. While you're usually more of a cardio person, you wrap your wrist and fist, slipping your hands into some boxing gloves. The gym is empty for once, so you connect your phone into the speaker system and blast your music. 

Your fist connects with the bag sending it spinning as you draw your arm back in to guard your abdomen and deliver a supplementary kick. 

Hit.  _"Do you want to talk about it?"_ Bucky's soft voice in your ear last night when he found you in the midst of a bit of a breakdown. The tingles that ran down your arms and legs when he relaxed into your touch and hugged you back. Comforting and safe. 

Kick.  _"I, uh, didn't want you to wake up alone."_ the dip in his voice... hesitation at what he was saying. Thinking the implications of his words, but his wrinkled clothing and the putrid scent coming off of him was enough of an answer. Your chest felt like it would implode, and it wasn't the thirty-six hours without food. 

Punch. His body lying lifeless on the ground flashes in your memory. Metal arm skewed at an awkward angle. Blazing anger and fear conflicting within you as you reached down to press your shaking fingers against his pulse point.

You spin into a roundhouse kick, the chains holding the punching bag creak severely.  _"You look... really nice."_ He sounded surprised when he saw you before you went dancing. You couldn't read the tone at first. Was it a good or bad thing. But you saw the way his eyes washed down your body then held your gaze intimately. You wouldn't put into words what you could tell he was thinking then, but its blaring in your brain now. 

You hit the bag harder.  _"Oh stop, you know what I mean. I like her, we're friends."_ his exact words to Steve on the phone when he thought you weren't listening. " _We're friends."_

You let out a frustrated burst of air, landing three rapid kicks. The bag swings backward, nearly hitting you on its return swing. You catch the bag, hugging it tight against your chest. You are friends. That's all it is. Nothing else. 

Nevermind that damn kiss that keeps replaying in your head. Or how you've dreamed of the dance you shared on more than one occasion. Sometimes these events start to blend together in a confusing muddle that is certainly not normal to be thinking about a co-worker. 

A flash of sudden lightheadedness hits you and you drop down to your knees, suddenly aware of dull pain in your side and tightness in your chest. Looking down, a crimson red is bleeding through your light gray tank top, spreading fairly quickly across your abdomen. The pain in your chest becomes sharper and you feel your airway constrict.  _Shit_.  _My lung just collapsed._  

"Friday?" You croak, using the punching bag to pull yourself to your feet. 

"How can I help?" 

"I tore... I tore my stitches." 

"Personal has been alerted. Stay where you are and stay calm." 

Within a few moments, the door to the gym bursts open and Tony runs in, along with a stretcher following close behind him. He runs over to you, immediately looping his arm behind your back to take on your weight. 

"You've got to be kidding me, kid." he huffs, helping you onto the stretcher and looking into your pained expression. "What is it?" 

"Lung..." you try and fail to take a breath. "Collapse." 

His eyes widen and he presses a few buttons on a keypad on the stretches. "Well geez, kid, lead with that next time for Christ's sake!" He pushes you back so you're lying down and the stretcher follows his rapid footsteps out of the gym and back towards the med-bay. An oxygen mask shoots out over your mouth, but it's in vain as your vision is spotting.

You hear a chorus of footsteps approaching. 

"What happened?" Steve's voice rings out, laced with outrage.

"Matt Murdock over here did a stupid thing." Tony retorts. You pick your head up just enough to see Steve, Sam, and Nat idling by as you are rushed past them. You raise a weak thumbs-up, earning an amused but concerned smile from Sam and an eye roll from Nat and Cap. A small part of you is thankful that Bucky didn't come running with them. A much larger part of you wishes he were at your side like he was the first time you found yourself in the med bay. 

The sliding doors open and you are whisked back into that sterile room. Something sharp is injected into your arm and then the world fades. The pain in your chest and side nearly disappears in an instant, and you relax into the wavy existence of whatever pain medication you were just given. You can hear the clanking of medical instruments and people shuffling around. The occasional pressure in various areas of your body prod you to stay conscious but you let yourself dissociate into a strange dream-like state. 

It's light and airy. Like fog spreading over a calm lake in the early morning. Blissful and dewy. 

 

Your family had property on a lake when you were young. You would drive for hours to reach it. It was on remote land, not a neighbor in sight. Just you, your family, and this little cabin on the lake. You would wake up early in the morning and sit on the back porch, breathing in the cool air and watching the colors the sunrise painted the sky shift to a more natural blue. Sometimes a brother would join you and you'd sit in silence, just watching this peaceful lake. 

It's where you'd go when you needed the world to stop. Or to stop thinking about the pain. Or to wish away the nightmares. 

You imagine yourself sitting on the edge of the dock. Your legs weren't long enough then, but by now you can just dip your toes in the cool water, creating ripples that cascade out in gentle waves. 

 _"Here again, I see."_ a faraway voice pushes into your happy place. You turn your head to see Bucky sitting cross-legged next to you on the dock. 

Your head dips to the side, resting on your shoulder.  _"Are you surprised?"_

He shakes his head, gazing out onto the water.  _"Not at all. You might as well move in at this point."_

You wish you could, but now you are realizing that this Bucky is not just a figment of your fantasy, but actually existing in the world you pine to get away from. Slowly opening your eyes, similar to how you awoke from your 36-hour slumber, Bucky sitting in a chair next to your bed comes into view. Same bright room. Not a beautiful cabin on a lake.

"I think I'll keep my own room, thank you very much." your voice is raspy and dry. It almost startles you to hear yourself speak. 

"What, are scalpels and IV bags not homey enough?" 

"I think it's the bedsheets that feel like plastic that turns me off, scalpels are actually very in on those home renovation shows."

An amused eye-roll and a smile invade Bucky's face. He smoothes his hair with his hand. "Really though, how did you manage to reopen your wound  _and_ puncture your lung?" 

"I'm really bad at kickboxing." 

"You were fighting with someone? Someone actually thought it was a good idea to--"

"The punching bag doesn't have the ability of abstract thought unless Tony made some upgrades." 

He cocks his head to the side. "You did that all on your own?" 

"It takes practice to be as big of a dumbass as me...I know." you struggle to choke out the last words and erupt in a big of a dry coughing fit. Bucky grabs a glass of water from the table and stands, placing one hand on the headboard of your bed and the other to hold the glass right in front of you. You slowly scoot yourself up to sit, careful not to irritate your stitches again. 

"You're not a dumbass," he says softly, bringing the water closer to you. You reach up and grab the cup, expecting him to hand it to you but his hand stays grasped around it as your fingers intersect with his for a few long moments. He finally pulls them away carefully, dropping his hand down to the blanket of your bed. You notice him fist the extra fabric, squeezing it tightly. You take a few long sips of water, eyes locked with Bucky's pale blue ones. You're tranced by his gaze, but you force yourself to look down into the cup. A thick tension has filled the room and it is getting a lot harder to ignore it. 

"You don't have to lie, I'm a big girl. I can take the truth, and the truth is I am not very good at being an Avenger." you lower the water into your lap, grasping it with both hands. You're afraid to look at Bucky, nervous at his reaction to your admission. 

The bed dips. Bucky has gone from standing to now sitting on the edge of your bed, right at your hip. You feel his body softly brush into yours through the blanket and recoil, careful of his weight distribution so close to your injury. 

"You saved the world last week. How does that not make you a good Avenger?" 

"Well, no, I mean--"

"I know what you mean. You don't feel at home. You're caught up in who people told you you were, not who you really are." 

You shake your head. "There's not much to me, Buck, those are the same people." 

"What was your duty before you got away?" 

You look down at your glass of water once more. It's not a job title you like to advertise. It's sickening and vile, making you nauseous every time you think about the implications of it. Yet, you know Bucky is trying to get at something and maybe it'll actually help. 

"Interrogator is the sort-of neutral way to put it." 

"And what is the not neutral way to put it?" he says intensely.

You look up, finding eye contact and letting out a labored breath. "Torturer." 

Your victim's faces flash through your mind. So unassuming of a young girl. So cocky. It helped you rationalize what you would have to do to them sometimes. You turned their dirty words into a fire to throw back into their faces, inflicting unimaginable pain to extract information that was needed. When you had sucked all you needed out of them, you became the executioner, finishing their nearly dead lives in an instant. You rationalized their quick deaths as humane, not including the hours of torture that preceded. 

He reaches down and takes your hand tenderly in his, threading his fingers in yours. "They made you into that, [y/n]. That wasn't your decision. You came here to use your powers for good. No matter the red in your ledger, the Avengers are givin' you a blank page to start over." 

"They did that for you."

"And for Nat. And Banner. And for Stark in a way. Listen doll, it might take a while to find the right rhythm with the team. Some days will feel better than others, but I promise you are where you belong. "

You're overloaded. His hand touching yours so tenderly. The seriousness he's speaking to you contrasting with the kindness in his eyes. Calling you "doll" may have been a slip, but boy did your heart rate increase. You're thankful you're not hooked up to an audible monitor. 

"Why do you do it, Buck?" 

His eyebrows furrow together. "Do what?" 

"Sit here and reassure me. Or wait for me to wake up. I've been told from numerous sources that your behavior is abnormal and I don't know how to interpret it all."

He lets out a deep breath, stroking your hand with his fingers gingerly. "Those guys have nothing better to do than psychoanalyze me." 

"That's what I said!" 

He smiles and stands up, still holding on to your hand. He lingers for a moment, his eyes searching yours before he reaches out with his other hand to softly run his thumb down your jawline. Your breath immediately hitches, and your cheeks grow warm at your involuntary response. He smiles a little before slowly leaning forward, the kiss in South America now seeming like deja vu. 

He doesn't reach your lips though. Instead, he presses his lips to your forehead, kissing it softly before running his thumb down the end of your chin and releasing your hand. Without a word he backs up and heads towards the door, your entire world now suspended in this limbo of shock and confusion. At the door he stops, and turns back around. 

"To answer your question, I do it 'cause I feel a connection with you. Yeah, 'cause I can relate but also... a, uh, different kind of connection as well." His lips press together and he nervously pushes a few loose strands of hair behind his ear. "You know. Goodnight, [y/n]." 

 


	11. The Disappearing Act

**Bucky's POV**

"To answer your question, I do it 'cause I feel a connection with you. Yeah, 'cause I can relate but also... a, uh, different kind of connection as well." Bucky is nearly holding his breath as he says this, trying hard not to let his voice crack. _Christ, I feel like a 13-year-old again._ He nervously pushes a few strands of his hair that were falling into his line of sight."You know. Goodnight, [y/n]." 

He turns and leaves before she can say anything about the bomb he just dropped on her. Better to let her sit and process that than to hover over her in anxious anticipation of her reply. He cares for her. A lot. As much as he hates to admit it to himself, let alone  _her_. He originally thought it to just be platonic feelings. 

Then again, when he kissed her forehead it took every ounce of him to not swoop down and repeat the kiss that happened in Brazil but this time not have it be a cover-up. Baby steps though. 

Like clockwork, when he exits the medical bay, who is standing with his arms across his genetically-modified chest? 

"Steve," he says, his stomach jumping a little bit. Did he see what just happened?" 

"Buck." 

"What are you--"

"Looking for you." 

"Why?"

Steve's eyes dart down to the ground before meeting Bucky's eyes again. Uh oh. 

"Why, Steve?" he repeats. 

"We need you in Madrid." 

Madrid? Bucky didn't even know there was an active mission in Madrid. He saw everyone in the compound just a few hours ago. Unless...

"What happened in Madrid?" 

Steve is quiet again, his lips pressed together in a thin line. "Let's go to briefing." 

 

The briefing takes a couple of hours. The mission is... well, a mess. Anytime a foreign government calls for Avenger reinforcements is never a good sign. Bucky and Nat will be leaving as soon as they can throw together a bag. Nat already did her packing, which is why she has planted herself on a chair in Bucky's bedroom while he throws shirts and pants into his duffel. 

"Are you going to tell her?" she asks, her eagle eyes watching his every move from closet to bag. 

"Tell her what?" 

"That you're leaving for an undisclosed amount of time." 

"We're not supposed to." 

"You just can't tell her _where_ you're going, but you can tell her you're going." 

"I can't." Bucky huffs. 

"Why's that?" Natasha leans forward, resting her elbow on her knee. It makes her look like a damn therapist when they know they've found the right path to work their way down. 

Bucky throws a pair of boxers at the bag, missing it completely. They fly to the other side of the bed. "I don't know." 

"You do know." 

"You sound like you know. Why don't you tell me?" 

"Well," she squints, sitting back against the chair again. "You obviously have feelings for her. And telling her you're going on a dangerous mission means you would have to face her and say that to her. But if you just go, let Steve break the news when she goes looking for you, you don't have to look her in the eye and tell her you're leaving." 

Bucky fixates on a loose string coming off his jacket. He doesn't want to tell her how close she is, but he suspects she will take his silence as a confirmation anyways. No need to swallow his pride now. 

"Am I doing a bad thing?" he asks, still averting his eyes from hers. 

"Is Bucky Barnes really asking me for relationship advice right now?" 

"Shut the--"

"It's fuzzy," she interrupts, rolling her eyes. "I wouldn't call it the right decision, but it's not  _wrong_... We are on a time table." 

He places the last article of clothing into his bag and zips it up. He isn't sure whether or not he should trust Natasha's moral grounds of right and wrong. He doesn't even trust his own, and Nat has had a comparably shitty life as well. Steve would tell him to just man up and go say goodbye. 

Steve isn't here right now though. He will let him barrage him about it through a sat phone another day.

He slings the bag over his shoulder and Nat stands, leading the way out of the room, but not before she eyes him with an unsettlingly neutral expression. He knows what that look means. He ignores it. 

* * *

**Reader's POV**

All-day you keep replaying Bucky's visit in your head. You feel like a teenager with a crush.

Bucky didn't come back for the rest of the day. Tony came by and told you you could sleep in your own bed so long as you don't try to box with it. You picked yourself up carefully and slowly made your way back to your room. 

At the cross-section of where you would turn to go to Bucky's room and where you keep going straight to reach your room, you hesitate. Should you go talk to him? Tell him that you have feelings for him and that connection he feels is in you too? Your brain tells you to sleep on it, he obviously left you alone for a reason. To think. 

Your heart is pulling you towards his room. 

As much as you'd like to lead with your heart, you opt to follow your brain today. You return to your room. You can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment when the door opens and you don't see him waiting for you. You're not sure where that thought was even conceived... those pain medications must be messing with your head. 

You change from your med bay clothes into a sweatshirt and a pair of pajama shorts. Your bed is cold when you slip under the covers, the sheets scratching against your skin uncomfortably. Lying flat on your back, you sigh dramatically. 

"Fuck it," you say out loud and carefully sit up and slip out of bed. Throwing on a pair of baggy sweatpants over your shorts and some slippers you exit your room and walk towards Bucky's room. Confidently. This is what you want and you won't sit in bed agonizing about this any longer. You reach his room and knock before you can change your mind. 

And wait.

No movement you can sense. You glance at the time on your watch. 11:24pm. Not particularly late, so he could be somewhere else in the compound. You look around to make sure no one else is in the hallway before pressing a button on the wall to activate Friday. 

"Hey Friday," you say, just loud enough for the AI to pick it up. 

_Yes [Y/N]?_

"Is Bucky in the compound?" 

_I'm sorry. That information is secured._

That's weird. You either have to be off the grid or on a classified mission in order for that to be Friday's answer.

Unless...

You walk as fast as you can without disrupting your stitches. Just as you expected, Steve is sitting in the lounge, some movie from the 80's playing on the TV. When you enter he doesn't look surprised, but he does look nervous. 

"Steve, where's Bucky?"

He crosses his arms, his face hardened and neutral. This isn't your friend Steve, this is Captain Rogers. 

"I can't tell you where he is." 

"So he's on a mission? When did he leave?" 

"I can only tell you he's away. And that he left this evening."

"When will he be back?" 

Steve looks down at his lap. That means he doesn't know. 

"Thanks," you say, and turn to go back to your room to process the sudden disappearance of Bucky Barnes, but before you can get far Steve jumps up from the couch and gently grabs your forearm. 

"Hey," you turn to face him. "Bucky cares about you. A lot ya know. Him not saying goodbye says a lot more than you may think." 

You smile, feeling your cheeks heat up a little. "That actually helps. Thank you, Steve." 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to finish this in the next three weeks! Sorry for the delays, college is hard sometimes :)

**Author's Note:**

> I am not consistent with posting (sorry... I'm working on it). Seeing comments and kudos does help motivate me so please let me know if you enjoyed this! Feel free to comment tropes you might want to see in future chapters, I don't have a set framework for this story or anything, just going with the flow!


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